Bern
by kageshoujo
Summary: Formerly "Queen of Bern". Bern and its new king sets his sights on war. The Tactician, Kumiko, would do anything in her power to stop it. But she can't—not when she is the King of Bern's wife, the Queen of Bern. FE6 timeline.
1. Black King, White Queen

_**Bern**_

Summary: Formerly "Queen of Bern". Bern and its new king sets his sights on war. The Tactician, Kumiko, would do anything in her power to stop it. But she can't—not when she is the King of Bern's wife, the Queen of Bern. FE6 timeline. For the sake of friends and lives of the innocent, would a tactician betray her own country? Would a woman betray the one man she swore the rest of her life to? Or would she lead the reins of war herself?

Mostly still a sequel to my other work, "The Journey in Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword" AKA "The Journey", but still a standalone. It would be helpful to read that first, though, to get to know Kumiko and some of the other OCs. Worry not though! Just read. I try to borrow the effects of historical romances—thus the rating. Nothing too bad for the eyes and imagination, though. I know "The Journey" is yet to be finished, but _Bern_ is something I love, too, and it has its own share of readers, so I shall update it anyway. For my The Journey readers, if you choose not to read this fic or read it later, it is perfectly fine with me.

Hope everyone likes the upgrade.

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Disclaimer: Don't own no rights to Fire Emblem. This plot and my tactician and her friends are mine, however. If you play FE, you know who the original characters are.

Rating: T, for mild violence and mild suggestive themes. If you know me write, that means super mild.

Dedication: To Aayvee, wherever you are. Thank you for the support you gave for the initial stages of this work.

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PROLOGUE

White Queen, Black King

_Frankly, it all started two years before the war even began. He was just crowned King of Bern—a great show of my skills at crowd control and keeping secrets, if I may brag. No one, absolutely no one, questioned how King Desmond died. And no one, absolutely no one, was allowed to speak of a blonde-haired young man rising from the coffin, ceremonial sword in hand, who with one stroke killed his father, killed the King of Bern._

_Zephiel became King, and what a fine king he made. Better than anyone I saw on the throne of my country, and that is not even a lie on my part. He might be the best. The economy was steady, there were no civil wars, there was peace and prosperity all throughout Bern. Even when he declared war, it never affected the country's resources. He is a master at management, a master of being a king. Master would even be an understatement. _

_But as I said, it really started two years ago. I and a certain woman were sent to the tips of our toes at the slight hints that the newly crowned king was hinting on war—a continental domination. He would never speak obviously of it—but I knew that man, and my co-planner knew him better. We knew when there was something in his mind, and we knew for sure that it was war. We didn't know why then—the story hasn't fully unfolded—but we knew we had to stop him somehow, someway._

_So the beginning of the tale might have truly begun in a secret meeting room in Bern Keep. My partner in the plan to stop the king look utterly distressed. She was so young, and I wondered if she could fathom doing dirty things for the sake of the continent. But when you work, you question not those things. All you ever care for is the person has the same goals as you._

"_We must distract him," she said, determined. "Divert him, do anything to take his mind off those dark ideas of war. Do you have any suggestion of what we might do?"_

_I have been thinking of the answer to that question for days. I could only come up with, "Get him a woman."_

_It was the most overdone, but highly effective, trick in the book. I have seen great men stumble and fall to the dirt all because of a woman. I have seen kings twist laws and wrong and right for a woman. While Zephiel was slightly different, even wiser, I knew for fact that all the kings of Bern tended to change drastically thanks to women. Power was their blessing… women were their curse. _

"_You know that won't work," my partner-in-crime said, as I picked the dirt from my boots. "That won't work," she repeated determinedly. "You know Zephiel. He smiles at women and treats them nicely, but he is careful not to be attracted to anyone. He knows what it means to be the king of Bern, knows what happened to all those before him. He never dare look at a woman twice."_

_Ah, Zephiel. So calculating. So determined. I sighed, and said, "He has never named, my lady, a woman he was ever fancied? Thought beautiful? Ever?"_

_She looked contemplative for a long while. That wasn't a good sign. But then she lit up and said, "Well, there was one time, but that was from long ago..."_

_I didn't care about "long ago". I can hunt people better than I hunt rabbits; I can find a woman even with the smallest piece of information. I am not called the Master of Spies for nothing. "Try me," I said. "If this woman seems to be any good, I will find her, and if she's around here, I could convince her to work for us with a snap."_

_But then she just had to name Genevieve Regrada. Genevieve—Kumiko! The Strategy Queen. The Queen of Hiding was her other name—skilled at helping groups with tactics and then disappearing without a trace. My stubborn, calculating king liked that sweet, innocent girl who helped little people with her skill for free. More importantly, she was not a woman who would work for someone else's goal. And she was not a woman who could seduce a king and place him beneath her fingers. If I placed her with the king, she would only be distressed—horribly distressed. She would curse me forever, beyond the grave._

_My companion told me that I had been quiet—was there something wrong with what she said? I shook my head. Of course there was nothing wrong, aside from the fact that I may have to sell out an innocent woman to a king of absolute power only to stop a war. Of course there was nothing wrong, aside from the fact that we were probably going to try to make a pair out of a Black King and a White Queen. Opposites in everyway, working for different interests._

_But then again, my companion said, he liked her. He would at least treat her decently—Zephiel always treated women appropriately, gods bless his mother, she taught him well. If he intended to hurt Genevieve, I could protect her. If he intended to use her, I could pull her out. _

_I believed in my power, I believed I could do all that. I had become a kingmaker by whispering to Zephiel's ears one night after his father tried to poison him. I could be a queenmaker, too, I said. And as a maker, I can unmake everything I ever created. So I thought. Who would have thought that The King of Bern and the Queen of Strategy were difficult pieces to maneuver?_

_This is their story, not mine. I was merely the instigator, an instrument to the unfolding of the main play. It all started two years before the war, when my companion and I met in a hidden room and talked about distracting the king with a woman. But everything after that is their story, and we others fell into minor roles. The calculating and steady Black King. The stubborn and emotional White Queen. The King and Queen of Bern._


	2. The Fall of Ostia

The Fall of Ostia

I wanted to resign, and that filled my mind for minutes as I strolled down the hallways of Castle Ostia as if it were a park, some very beautiful open grassland to be ventured and not the familiar place that it is. These hallways—and their secret lanes—have been part of my home since I could remember, since I trained to be a spy of Ostia. Yes, since I could remember, I have been a spy of Ostia. For too long. Far too long.

Which brings me back to the desire to resign. But who would take over my job? Who to pick? Well, there was my beautiful assistant, so the choice was clear—

-_Matthew, stop stalling. Flattery isn't getting you anywhere._

_-It might get me more wine. Give me that bottle and shut up and listen, it's my story right?_

—As I was saying, I had a beautiful assistant—horribly cold and dull, though—who would be ever fit to take over my job. She might not like that notion, though, that I'd be promoting her to be Ostia's Master of Spies when she wasn't even an Ostian, more so a Lycian, but a Bernese. But who of Ostian blood was more fit than her? There was always Asthor, but he be a lazy one too, and he'd also hate the role. And so I was debating with myself with who was worthy of becoming Ostia's Master of Spies when it happened. A loud explosion at first, and then more loud sounds as if our walls were being rammed, and then battle cries, and a loud—"Castle Ostia is under attack! Fiends! Infidels! Traitors!"

For a split second I thought I was dreaming. But then, a Master Spy, even in a dream, knows his priority. I made the fastest dash I could to Lady Lyn's rooms, to secure the lady and her daughter, make sure they were safe and that they knew the situation before any fiends could come to them. My lord Hector was away, and the castle and his wife and child were entrusted to me, so if anything ever happened to Lady Lyn and Lilina, if anything ever happened—

And then I realized, half our soldiers were away with Lord Hector to Araphen. The defenders left at court, half of them were traitors. I ran the halls, seeing Ostian versus Ostian, and with soldiers wearing Bern's armor and flag thrown into the mix. So it was Bern—Bern!—who was the cause of all this. But... why? My dearest Kumiko would never let this happen. She'd never—unless she didn't know...

My path to Lady Lyn's rooms was a long, hard, path. Ostians and Bernese blocked me, and once again I had to use the dagger concealed in my coat to fight. None of them were good enough for me, good enough to hurt me, when the urgency to see to the lady's safety was driving me. "Watch over Lyn and Lilina for me, Matthew," Lord Hector said before he left. I'll be damned if I didn't see them safe. Who knows if her own guards were traitors, too? Who knew if this dream was real?

Yes, it was all real. And no matter how fast I was, I was not as fast as them.


	3. Bern Keep

_It was an uncalculated, selfish move on his part. He wanted no one contesting him on the battlefield, and that was why he turned her into an immortal—but he did not know that that would cause him more distress. Immortality detached from her from us mortals who she loved, but immortality gave her the power to contest the god's selfish acts. Damn him being the god of War and her the goddess; damn him being her husband. She would always find a way to fight for what she believed in, such is my goddess of War._

CHAPTER ONE | BERN KEEP

SHE STOOD BEFORE HIM, her sapphire eyes glaring at him as if he had done some grave wrong that would make her detest him for a lifetime. It was as if he did something so stupid; an act lacking any corrigible reason.

He looked down at her—he was seated quite comfortably on his throne, watching as she mouthed innumerable reasons as to why he is insane and why his actions must be stopped. She dragged on and on, and with every word he felt his interest to listen drained from him. That was when his eyes travelled the room—it was the lesser throne room, where he took most of his private audiences. The floor was of splendid marble tiles, and it accentuated a red carpet that led to his throne. His hands felt around the armrest of his throne—it was carved from dark wood, and smooth and comforting to the senses.

As he was doing this, the woman went on and on, putting up quite a show of words and reasons for him. And he stared at her, watching her without hearing her. She is his relief; she is his amusement; and sometimes, his annoyance—like she was now.

Bored, his eyes started studying her critically, in her dress of purple velvet that left her shoulders bare. He would say the color made her look royal; and she would say that it made her look like a walking eggplant.

He sighed, for she has not stopped speaking, and then he proceeded to stare at her. They way the light from the huge glass windows hit her skin was brilliant, as he noticed. It was almost sundown, and the softened light would hit her tanned skin, making it look smooth and creamy, giving it a luster that he longed to touch and feel against his skin...

And then he smiled—a smile men tend to have when their thoughts are anything but decent. She noticed this, and paused.

"Your Highness," she called him, and her voice snapped him from his daze. "You were listening to me, I hope?"

He straightened, and looked at her in the eye. "Pardon me. I sort of lost the conversation when I noticed how superbly the sun hits your skin. Have you noticed it yourself, Kumiko?"

She gave a glance to her bare shoulders and arms, and realized his point, but then said, "Was that thought associated with that smile?"

"What smile?" he asked, unaware of the face he made.

"That smile brimming with intent of debauchery."

He chuckled. "Ah, that. Are you sure you want to hear what I was thinking then?"

She arched up an eyebrow. "Zephiel."

_Zephiel._ He knew for a fact that when she was annoyed, she made it a point to stop addressing him with titles such as "Your Highness" and the like. She would call him by his name, as if to instill into him that she was an equal, that she had a right to be heard.

"Kumiko, I was listening, I was," he told her. "You were telling me that starting this war is utter rubbish, and that it should be done with. You told me that this war does not promote the better of the country. You told me that just because I am the king of Bern, the country with the best military on the continent, doesn't mean that I have the right to flaunt my military power. Did I miss anything else, woman?"

"So you _were_ listening."

"Yes, but I will tell you,"—and he looked down at her with an expression in his face that was trying to say that he would mean whatever he was about to say—"anything you say will not make a difference. And I believe I've told you before to stop screaming around in my castle—you make it evident to everyone that you are the commoner you once were."

Her head shot up to stare him and his eyes of golden brown. She hated it every time he stepped on her for being a commoner. She hated it, abhorred it, despised it...

He smirked when he saw the woman's obviously irritated expression. He loved it when she put on this face. He loved it, he adored it, he was amused by it...

And seeing that he was amused, she crossed her arms over her chest, briefly raised an eyebrow, and then turned her heels to walk out of the throne room, the purple velvet of her floor-length dress whipping behind her.

Such were the King and Queen of Bern.

"Kumiko, I was listening..." he called out to her with a feigned sugar to his deep voice. She paused, yet did not turn to face him.

"Zephiel, don't try to act sweet," she told him off. "You know full well that that has no effect to me whatsoever."

She would have walked away, but then she heard his feet descending from his throne and walk towards her.

"Kumiko, don't be mad at me..." he whispered when he was right in front of her, as he laced an arm around her waist.

"The minute you give me a rational explanation for this senseless war is the minute you get your wife back. For now," she pushed him away, "forget you ever had a wife and a queen."

And she walked away.

He was left there, shocked, but equally amused.

He ended up chuckling to himself, saying, "My, my... Who does she think she is?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Fifteen years, this continent has not known war. Fifteen years... is such a long time ago._

Kumiko stormed out of the king's chambers, taking luggage upon luggage into her arms and passing them to her attendants. She was infuriated of how the king treated her—not once has he not considered something that she has said. He had always been rational, and had always been willing to listen to her concerns. Yet now she barely knows the king that she spoke to, as if he had become a foreigner to her.

"Kumiko," her lady-in-waiting, Nino, spoke to her in a concerned tone as Kumiko stacked another book on top of the pile in the arms of Nino's husband. "I think that was just a moment where your emotions got the better half of you. You know the king will always consider what you say, so long as you ask him kindly."

"Look at this, Nino. Look at this!" Kumiko walked towards the glass window in the hallway that gave them a wide view of the surroundings of the main castle. One could easily see the castle town bustling in action, with soldiers busy training and doing things of similar likeness. In the distant orange skies, one could spy Bern's wyvern knights patrolling the castle perimeters. It would have been ordinary—the profession of the soldiers and knights required them to fight and train and protect their country, after all. But this time, it was different. They were preparing for war.

"Everywhere I look, Bern reeks of the smell of lust for war. And I have no idea how Zephiel has kept this a secret from me for so long!" Kumiko said, as she stomped the heel of her shoe in the carpeted floor out of annoyance. "How could I not have known that Ilia and Sacae are now colonies of Bern? How could he keep it secret from me?"

Nino and her attendants were silent, unable to provide her with an answer. "And you say I'm being emotional!" the queen continued. "If he has kept a secret such as this hidden from me, he might as well be hiding something as horrible such as a mistress behind my back!"

The attendants and Nino found nothing to say. They only followed Kumiko's determined footsteps to her own chamber, since she ached to be separated from the king. They have always shared their apartments, contrary to what most monarchs did, partly because Kumiko, once being a commoner, had distaste for being alone in such huge quarters, and also partly because the king was possessive of his wife. During instances of squabbles, though, the queen would take some of her essential items and move to her own chambers.

"His Highness is stubborn to an extremity I wouldn't be able to describe," the queen said as the doors of her chambers were opened before her, "and to make him snap to his senses requires actions as extreme!"

The attendants put her items neatly into drawers, closets, and desks, and the queen helped as well, taking her books from the arms of Nino's husband, Jaffar, and putting them into bookcases.

"Just thinking that I sleep beside the king who's trying to dominate the continent in so violent a manner disgusts me." Kumiko then rolled her eyes, as she took another book from the stack in Jaffar's arms and slid it between two others in the bookcase.

"Kumi," Nino began softly, calling Kumiko by her nickname, "maybe a little talking out will be helpful. The way you talked with him earlier—practically demanding for a talk and screaming at him—of course he would not be able to help being annoyed at such an approach."

"...Are you saying, Nino, that I compose myself and use the charms to get him to listen?"

"Yes," Nino nodded with a smile. "We know the king always listens to you so long as you present your thoughts calmly. If you can't make him listen, no one can."

"That is true," the brief statement came from Jaffar, who was long finished with the books and was currently seeing to it that every bit of the queen's possessions were present and orderly.

Kumiko herself gazed around her room—her chamber was nothing big nor elaborate unlike that of Zephiel's. She had a curtained bed, a set of couches and a low table, a desk, a few bookcases lined against the wall, a dresser, and that was it. She had her bathroom and her changing room, but she did not have an audience room, a receiving room, and a guardroom like he did. Her room was, after all, not officially the Queen's Bedchambers. It was a random guestroom that she chose among a dozen more guestrooms. The official Queen's Bedchamber was so huge that she disapproved of it—she is not used to such a luxurious lifestyle, after all.

"Okay, everyone, out, out, out," Kumiko said with a wave of the hand, dismissing her attendants. She did not like her attendants as well—she thought that if she needed something, she could get it herself. She relied on Nino and Jaffar if she needed something.

"Oh, except you, Miranda," she called on a certain attendant, who stepped towards her as the others went away. Miranda was the youngest of the attendants, but the one with the highest rank—the heiress of the marquess of the southeast region of Bern.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Does Princess Guinevere know about this war?" Kumiko asked the attendant.

"I believe Princess Guinevere has gone down the border, attended by Ellen. The Master of Spies says that the princess does indeed know of the king's plans. The princess might be plotting something as well to halt her brother's plans."

Kumiko groaned as she smacked the palm of her hand to her forehead. "Why does my best friend have to be the Master of Spies? Why is Anko more loyal to Zephiel, considering we've been friends since birth?"

Nino giggled. "Oh, don't worry, Kumiko. You've got us."

The sage's innocent smile seemed to ease the queen, who broke into her own innocent smile as well. "Well... yes. You're right."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"My lady, His Majesty summons you to his chambers," the voice of Miranda, and her soft knock on the door of Kumiko's bedroom, interrupted the silence of the queen.

Kumiko, lying in her canopied bed, made a face of disgust and kept quiet, pretending to be asleep.

But Miranda called again. "My lady, are you there? His Majesty summons you."

Irritated, Kumiko finally called out, "Tell him I'm in no mood to see him."

"My lady—"

Kumiko called out, louder this time, "Tell him I'd rather die than face him!"

However obviously angry her statement was, much to Kumiko's surprise, Miranda still opened her door and entered her bedroom. Kumiko gathered herself and turned to the doorway, and was greeted by the sight of not Miranda, but Zephiel himself, in his sleeping robes, looking straight at her.

"_My lady_," he said, ironically mimicking Miranda's tone, "His Majesty the King of Bern calls for you and you refuse? What impertinence is this? Stop this at once and come back to our chambers."

She angrily pulled down on the curtains of her canopied bed, a thin translucent sheet of cloth falling over and shielding her from his view, albeit a bit. "As much good as that offer sounds, I am inclined to refuse, Zephiel."

"I know you are scared of sleeping alone, Kumi, and in such a large room," he said, actually sounding concerned. "Do you hate me that much?"

"Much better than sleeping beside a monster. Yes, Zephiel, I hate you that much."

The sharp retort caused him to flinch, but refusing to be threatened, he walked towards her, and pulled her bed's curtains aside and sat on her bed. Instinctively she backed away, rising from her bed and taking a few quick steps across the room, away from him.

He chuckled. She always acted like distance between him and her was a necessity—it is not just because of their earlier argument.

"Ah, my wife, don't play these games with me, don't make it so hard," he said, with a bit of a smirk. And he rose as well and chased after her—before she could spiral away, she was in his arms, he has much taller and bigger and faster for her to escape.

She looked up to him defiantly, and he stared down at her, examining her. Her expression would never be a threat to him—she was too adorable to take seriously, and even when she was angry there was a pout in lips that was more cutesy than threatening. This defiant little woman, the commoner tactician, and the princess of Regrada... Her brown-blonde hair, up to her back, was a proof of her noble lineage. Her blue eyes mirrored the eyes of the man that was her father, the Marquis of Regrada. But that was offset, always, by her rash, almost graceless demeanor at times, her browned skin—from staying too long under the heat of the battlefield. She was none too beautiful—she would pale in comparison to Princess Guinevere, his younger sister. But Kumiko was… interesting. He smiled, and placed a finger to her lip, and idly traced the contours and lines, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Zephiel," she suddenly said, and now her succeeded in sounding serious. The tone she gave to foolish soldiers or fighters that refused to follow her orders, perhaps.

"Yes?" he asked, as he held her chin under his hand, as to direct her gaze to him, still smirking, knowing full well that she was annoyed by it.

"Get your hands off me."

He chuckled lightly, shook his head, and said, "No. You are going with me tonight."

"You'd force yourself on me? You _dare_?"

"Woman," and now his tone was serious as well, "I hope you remember that I have a right as a husband, a right that you do not give me. I have a right to have you in my bed when I wish it, and a right as king to banish you if you refuse. But not once have I used that power over you. May I ask, is there something in me that is so dislikable that you would not want me?"

Now it was her turn to study him. He had hair of a shade just like hers—somewhat brown and somewhat blonde as well, and his eyes were golden brown. His skin was as tan as hers—and they both acquired it in the same way, from staying too long in the battlefield. But that is where the similarity ends. He was tall, his presence is rarely missed—and while she was not so tiny, she was small enough so that she could slip away unseen in a crowd easily. His body was muscular—and if not, she was sure it was strong. Zephiel was always strong in everything he did. Firm in everything he said, carrying his authority naturally. He was not a man who people feared and followed just because he had a crown on his head. He earned it, and demands nothing but respect from everyone.

Only she dare disobey him.

"Is there something dislikable?" he asked again, pressing her to answer.

She thought hard. Zephiel? Undesirable? For all this time, if not for the war, he would have been. He had the power of a king and was firm and final in his decisions, but he was also considerate and valued good counsel. He was even somewhat kind and refused to overstep anyone. The truth was he has been a good man to her, a good husband. So she thought twice against saying something hurtful.

He let the question hang in the air, knowing what her silence meant. And he just said, "I refuse to sleep unless I know you would be in my room. Stop being so stubborn, Kumiko. This rebellion of yours would only cause you more harm than me."

But she shook her head, and gathered the strength to push him away, and so she stepped away from his grasp. "I refuse to come with you unless you listen to me and stop this nonsense war."

"It is not like I'm forcing you to fight in it," he reasoned.

"And you expect me to sit here idly, when I know countless families are suffering on your whim?"

"Kumiko," his tone was serious, "this isn't all based on a whim."

"This is all a whim and if it is not, then give me a better word."

He thought for about a three seconds, and then he offered, "This is a righteous dream."

She rolled her eyes and sat back on her bed. "There is nothing righteous about a war and violence."

"You were once a tactician-how can you say that?" he argued. "Isn't violence and war righteous when it fights to seek correction for a previous mistake? Or when the ideals behind it are good?"

"That may be so, but it is wrong if there are other less severe methods available which also hold the same ideals, but you choose to overlook them."

"What if war is the only way?"

"That doesn't happen. And what are you hiding from me?"

He only grinned, as he sat beside her on her bed, pulled her closer and stroked her hair. "I'm not telling."

She lightly pushed him away, as he expected her to, and she slid into her covers. "Fine. You never trusted me anyway."

"You," he snapped, "never loved me anyway."

"You never loved me, either," she said.

"...Are you sure?"

She found herself speechless against those words, and he just lightly kissed her on the forehead, and then he walked away, surrendering, closing the door carefully behind him.

**End of Chapter.**

A/N: The style has changed greatly from my earlier work and I've fleshed out most of the scenes. For my old readers, I hope they delight in the revision, for new readers, please feel free to comment! Most people ask, "Why the Tactician?" Well, firstly, I am a Zephiel fangirl. I believe he is a good person underneath everything that he started in FE6. Just look at the Zephiel in FE7. I wanted to make the contrast between that Zephiel and this. After playing FE6 I decided to write an FE6-centric fic which wouldn't lose FE7 players who've never touched FE6. And so... I had a dream about the Tactician and Zephiel. Le gasp! An idea was born. Back then I was already writing _The Journey_, so it may be shocking to some to read of her future as well.

As opposed to The Journey, expect more politics and stuff here, and romance and angst thrown at every corner (which some say I'm good at?). I've gotten so immersed in the culture of Elibe and wanted to write a lot more and make everything sound real. (Despite that, this current chapter is over a year old, so if it's a bit unpolished, apologies.) I hope I succeeded, even to a little degree. Queen of Bern (which I now just called "Bern", because it's about Zephiel as much as it is about Kumiko) is one of my oldest fics and I wanted to see it get better as I did, too.

The Prologue was written in Anko's POV. Readers of the Journey know her as one of Kumiko's close friends.

The second prologue was written in Matthew's POV. He is discussing with Xarin, another OC, a friend of Kumiko and a spy of Ostia, and is much known to my The Journey readers.

Review, please, if you feel like it.


	4. Disregard

TWO | Disregard

"_Kumiko, I want you to marry me."_

"_W-What?"_

"_Are you deaf? I said I wanted you to marry me."_

"_What are you-N-No! What madness is this, Your Majesty? That's not a nice joke..."_

"_No jokes. Marry me. You will be Queen of Bern and I will leave you with nothing more to ask of. Nothing to worry about, no unsecure tomorrow. You will have security, protection, wealth, power, prestige-"_

"_-No queen is ever secure, majesty."_

"_You have my word, you will be every bit secure. You have no enemies. No rivals. You are the only woman I will ever take a second look at."_

"_A-Are you forcing me? Are you even really serious? I can't—I'm just a commoner, an ordinary tactician—"_

"_You are the Queen of Strategy. I think that is royal enough."_

"_...No!"_

"_...I am the King of Bern, Kumiko. I do not take 'no' for an answer. And think. Would it not be great if you became Queen? Think of all the people that you could help, Kumiko. Think."_

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

An auburn Bernese autumn changed everything, two years ago.

The Tactician Guild, hidden in a forest in the capital, was home to the students of Bern's greatest tactician, Alecto. His students were few but every bit special, lethally skilled in where they chose to excel. Kumiko was a member of this small group, as well as Anko, Bern's Master of Spies, and Alecto's daughter.

An autumn two years ago, Kumiko travelled back to the Guild, to visit for the winter as she always did, but little did she know that that autumn, Anko had plans for her. Plans she never would unfold by herself. There was no room for resistance—Anko, being Alecto's daughter, was facilitator of their group, deciding which tactician took what contract and when. How in the world would she know back then that she was going to be put forward to distract a king, turned into a pawn in a game? That was how she felt. Though a crown rests on her head and she was called Queen by every man, she was still a pawn, put forward by a spy to lure a king.

And why in the world, of all the beautiful women that roamed Elibe, would Zephiel ever desire _her_? Of all the princesses of better lineage, of the women of better grace and finery, of all the maids that would give an arm or leg to be his wife—why in the world?

Politics, she thought. She blamed it all on politics. That was what she made herself believe. She would hate to brag about it, but she was the Strategy Queen, trying to be won over by all countries to work for them. Bern was one of those countries, and as all countries, she had refused. Only Anko had locked her into a contract with Bern—and eventually, into a marriage contract with its sovereign. Why she was chosen, she blamed on the prestige and title that everyone almost seemed to associate with her. Queen of Strategy. It would always be an intelligent choice for a country thriving in military power to have sovereigns who are adept at the trade.

_...Politics? Ridiculous_, Kumiko thought once. If Zephiel wanted power, he should have married an Etrurian princess, like most kings of Bern did, like his father did. His mother—if she had been alive then, gods bless her soul—would have seen to that. She would have never let him marry a commoner. His father would have allowed it—if only to show everyone that Zephiel was only good enough for a nobleman's bastard child. Or maybe—just maybe—he would understand that almost whimsical, illogical desire of Zephiel to marry a commoner, because he too, had loved one, the mother of Guinevere.

_But you're the Queen of Strategy. You are royal enough._ And that is all that Zephiel ever said.

But Bern, since having enthroned her, has never seen the Strategy Queen at work. If anything else, Kumiko hated anything that had to do with the nobles-only once working under Lords Hector and Eliwood, and Lady Lyndis of Lycia. It was set in her mind that she would not—never—use her skill for a noble if not for those that were her friends. And if Zephiel's goal in marrying her was for warmaking, then that made her vow all the more to stop her practice of tactics.

_ Everything is just... ridiculous. Whenever I think back on all that happened, I still don't understand what brought me here and why I even let this happen._

_ Oh, yes. Now I remember. Zephiel's offer. And Lord Athos' prophecy._

_Think of all the people you could help,_ Zephiel had said. _Think of all the people whose lives would be better because of you. Isn't that what you want, Kumiko? That's why you try to help anyone you can. If you were queen, you could do much more than what you do normally. I swear to support you in all endeavors of this kind that you may have._

But all that was playing on her mind as he said those words was Lord Athos' dying words. _A dark star rises from the East_. From Bern... She married and accepted the role of queen thinking that she can have a closer watch on her country and prevent anything horrible from happening. But what if that dark star was the man that was supposed to be by his side, watching over their nation?

Was he that dark one?

She had never watched him. Certainly, and she regretted it, she had ruled him out. He was a good man, a wonderful king, and Bern had never been more prosperous than it had been. He was stern in giving justice and he stood by his words, but at the same time he was a merciful king that his people loved. So where did this war come from? She regretted not watching him carefully enough. She has been married to him for two years now, and although their marriage had no major problems, she had never felt anything strongly for him, and they argue over little things frequently. For one, she says that she works too hard, and says that he never has time for her. On the other hand, he says that he has given her everything she asks for, and says that she shuns him whenever he tries to show his concern. She never lets him hold her unless there was a public gathering where it was necessary they show their relationship. Oh, they always made up after, and she gave him all due respect, but she knew in her heart that she did not love him, and she only married because she had to. And so she disregarded him.

And now he was doing it to her.

LYCIA | Ostia

He looked dimmer than the night, and she had no memory of him looking like that, ever. She walked over to his figure, slipping a bowl of food onto the table before him, impassive even if he was clearly depressed.

He lifted his thoughts from where they were, and briefly turned his head towards her as she walked towards the windows and leaned against them. She pulled her long dark brown hair from her neck and over her shoulder, and he just said, "No."

He pushed the food aside, and instead gave his attention to the bottle of wine before him, swinging it over to his mouth. She glared at him—that wine was unwatered, pure, and of very good quality, the kind served to kings. Not the kind a drunkard in some inn should be drinking. "Stop it," she said. "You're going to have an awful hangover in the morning, I swear. Stop it, Matthew."

Matthew—Ostia's Master of Spies. He would never seem like it at first glance. He never had the most necessary trait a spy needed, which was normalcy—the ability to be forgettable. He was feather-light in movement, swift as lightning in battle, with hands and fingers that could handle any lock or dismantle any mechanism, traits that would make him a top-class spy—but he was not forgettable. Over the years he had grown tall—not absurdly so, but tall enough to stand out from the ordinary men—and that does not help his forgettability. Then there was his appearance—sandy brown hair that seemed gold when hit by the light was on his head, spilling onto a tail down the nape of his neck up to his back. He had a nice smile that always curled into a smirk—he tended to smirk even while he talked. Lean and tall with sun-kissed complexion and a boyish charm… Even in his mid-thirties, he never failed to take the attention of men and women alike. Anyone can tell that he is no plain man from his looks. Though his appearance had hindered much of his career as a field spy, he proved that he was too good to be just that—he became the Master of Spies, the one who oversaw everything, the one pulling the reins.

It was a different Matthew in that room that night, though. He was a mess—his white, long sleeved undershirt soiled brown from mud and red from blood, his fancy black-and-gold coat tossed recklessly onto the bed. His skin and face was scratched up, purple bruises still all over his body and at the corner of his lips. His eyes were bagged from lack of sleep. He smelled like sweat and like he just drowned in wine. He was not the sweet, the smart, the clever Master of Spies. He was not the accomplished man with great responsibilities. He was a boy drowning in his fears.

Matthew smiled glumly as he set down the wine after a long gulp. He has had too much, but when he spoke, he did not slur. Good spies had high tolerance for liquor. "Why should I stop?" he asked her, pointedly. "What do you expect me to do, woman? Put Ostia back together, when I'm not even a noble or royalty?"

"You're Master of Spies," she pointed out, while shaking her head to herself. _Why in the gods' names am I tolerating this man again?_

"Master of losers. I botched it all. It was all my fault—silly, useless me…" He lifted his left hand to touch his right shoulder, bandaged tightly, and he flinched when it suddenly hurt. This alerted the woman, and she said, "Don't touch it too much. It's not going to be in any condition to even move yet, unless we get a healer."

"It's going to stay this way forever," he said. "The chances of finding a healer in the coming days are slim. The remaining soldiers in the perimeter are looking for us, Xarin. The distance from the next town is too much. By then, this would have become permanent. Serra could handle this, but I'm not even sure I'd see her again…"

The woman, Xarin, a field spy of Ostia, didn't know how to feel for a while. She had never bothered to sympathize with other people. The profession dictated being colder than most men. Understand—yes, she understood perfectly—but never knew how to sympathize. And it bothered her that maybe that was what her superior needed.

Xarin, four years younger than Matthew, was much his opposite. She did not strike people the same way he did—she was never the charmer. People tended to avoid her, to not even pay notice her, as if their subconscious were telling them that she was dangerous. Only those who take a second look ever notice her—her long, dark brown hair, her even-toned, unblemished skin, her deep, steely auburn eyes—and then come to the conclusion that she is, in her own way, a beauty. _Too cold, though_, Matthew used to say. _Got this sort of aura creeping out of her telling people to get out of her way. Only the brave, stubborn ones pit themselves in her path—and they're not rewarded well._ She rarely smiled, expression mostly blank. Only when she was acting out a role did she smile._ Without a role to play, she's blank,_ Matthew used to say, _just a product of long years in the field, but that sure as hell does make her the deadliest field spy out there._

Not the best companion, though. She was awkward at conversations that involved much emotion—like now. Matthew was clearly brooding from his failure at Ostia, and she could read that his every small move and gesture and sigh was asking for comfort and encouraging words. None of which she could or knew how to give.

"...It's going to be alright," she said, trying to sound reassuring. But if anything else her words just made Matthew give a snort—he did not believe her at all. Frankly, with the way Matthew was acting, Xarin doubted her own words as well. There was no way to pull together Ostia's spies when the very head was acting like a boy. No way at all. She glared at him and raised a brow—and he saw it.

"You can act like that, you know, because you're not me," he said, tone dismissive and arrogant. "You didn't see what I saw, dear, didn't go through what I got through. A surprise attack from Bern, with some people from inside the castle working with them—I didn't see that. I was supposed to see that, me being Master of Spies and all. But I didn't. I was supposed to save Lilina. But they took her away from my very arms. I was supposed to look after Lady Lyn—but they killed her in front of me. I lost everything, everyone. I don't have anything left."

And silence filled the room, letting Matthew's words hang in the air. His smirk left his face and slowly turned to a downcast frown, as he repeated the words. "...I don't have anything left. I'm with nothing, no one."

Another silence. But then Xarin spoke, in something short of a whisper, eyes downcast on the floor:

"...What about me?"

Matthew lifted his head, turning to her, because he did not hear her words. He was about to ask her to repeat what she said, but then all of a sudden, she came to him an a flash, holding him by the neck and pulling him to the ground. His wine toppled over, red liquid spilling to the floor.

"I dare you to say that again!" she said, fist tight on his collar, the other hand pressing him down hard on the ground, on his bad shoulder. He swore he was going to finish that swordsman's job of ridding him of an arm. "I dare you to say that! You say you've lost all your spies, that you're with nothing, no one. Then what do you call _me_? I'm better—if not the best—among your field spies. I can do better than a hundred men! I've followed you up to now without complaining! Gods know how much I'm already fed up with your whining! But I say nothing! Not until now. You're my superior, and that's all I think of. But you call me _nothing_. _No one_. And don't you dare think you're the only one in pain! I saw the attack on Araphen! I _saw _it! I had to fight through it! I had to escape on my own to see if you, or Lady Lyndis, or Lilina was safe—and you disregard me! You selfish fool. I refuse to follow such a stupid man!"

He was stunned, if only because it was Xarin screaming at his face then and there—Xarin, who kept her mask on all this time, who didn't say much, who never ever lost her cool. Her eyes were filled with anger—and then they turned glossy. And her body jerked slightly, as if she were stifling tears that were to come.

_Oh no, my god, Xarin—cry? I must be such a horrible man. So selfish indeed. She's been as much as I have been. She feels as much responsibility as I do. When I should have been the stronger one, here she is, pushing me to my senses. Oh, Xarin. I'm so sorry, Xarin. _ "Xarin… I'm… I'll…"

"If you refuse to pick yourself up, I'll leave you and find my own way! I'll-"

She stopped when he suddenly pulled a hand up to her own—to the one clutching him on his bad shoulder. He stroked her hand with his fingers, held it in his, and then said, "…I'm sorry."

Her glossy eyes stirred, as if the words were the ones that would cause the tears to pour. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. And you're right. I'm a pathetic man. And I degrade you by being one. I'm sorry. I'll do better. I promise."

She gasped, as if she couldn't believe what she were hearing. He said everything so smoothly; it must be a lie. But then at the same time, why did everything sound so true? A tear came down her cheek. "I… I don't believe you. What are your promises worth? What…" The words trailed off, and were lost.

He smiled, put a hand up to her cheek to wipe the tear away, and said, "Worth every fiber of my being. I'll promise—I'll swear. I swear I'll be stronger. And if I have you, what do I need all my other spies for? You're even better than me."

She—much to Matthew's surprise—blushed at his praise. He gave a little giggle at that reaction, but then—

The door burst open, and the innkeep's daughter was there. Matthew and Xarin sharply turned their heads towards her—and she gasped, mumbling an incorrigible apology, then quickly shutting the door. "I'm sorry!" she called. "I didn't mean to interrupt!"

Matthew and Xarin stayed still, staring at the door, as if waiting for the girl to go away. When her footsteps were well and gone, Xarin sighed, but then Matthew burst out laughing.

"What?" Xarin asked, the flush on her face vanishing.

"She thought she was _interrupting_!" Matthew answered, with a laugh.

"Inter—" Xarin began, but she recalled her position—on her knees and hands, holding a very amused Matthew against the floor, underneath her. And when she realized this, she quickly scrambled away from Matthew like he had the plague.

Matthew wouldn't stop laughing, though.

BERN KEEP | Office of the Master of Spies

The morning air was cold, and Anko could almost see a drizzle coming in from her office around the topmost part of Bern Keep, where one had through climb an obscurely long, winding staircase to reach. But that difficulty came with a prize, Anko always told others and herself. Being in such a hard to reach location, intruders were unlikely to come and find her office, and then there was exclusivity as well—there were no nosy courtiers or unwanted servants ambling about as she worked. For all she knew, she was entirely alone in that floor of Bern Keep.

And then there was the view—always spectacular. The mountain ranges of Bern can be seen, the fields, the towns—everything. The wyvern riders would be seen in their rounds around the Keep, and sometimes, a wyvern knight would pass her office window and bid her good day.

And such a good day it is today, Anko thought, as she looked out her window. The early morning was quiet in the quaint way, but then Anko knew that that silence would not last long. Pretty soon, messages would come in though hawk or wyvern knight through her window, and she would have to decode messages, background check certain people, write down reports, and piece everything together for His Majesty, Zephiel. He would be expecting her report in no more than an hour.

Anko took a little sip of wine, set the goblet by her window, and then turned back to her office to get to work. Her office had already been drowning in enough papers on ordinary days, but these days, in this war, there were more papers to deal with.

Unfortunately, most of them were trash and hardly to be considered. A stack of them was made up entirely of letters of appeal to the Queen of Bern—questioning why and how this war started, begging to please plead with king, telling of tales of villages taken, husbands and children killed, sons forcibly taken into the military to draft a resistance force against Bern. And Kumiko was not to be bothered with such things, the king had made clear. The stack of letters was going to end up in her fireplace. But everyday she sifted through them, reading the letters for relevant information that some might contain. And she did that then—she ripped off the seal of a letter from the stack, and read.

There was nothing new to the letter, though. Someone from Etruria questioning what was going on with the war. Nothing new at all. Countless messages have been given—publicly and in secret—from Etruria to Bern and its courtiers, questioning the war—carefully, lest they risk the king's temper. The letters and polite inquiries, Anko thought, were all useless. Truth be told, she herself did not know what the war was all about. And she was the kingdom's Master of Spies.

_I'm sorry, father. I have not seen this coming at all. I thought I knew everything that was going on. I thought I controlled everything. I cannot say Zephiel is now an awful man, but he is not the boy we used to know, father. And Kumiko—she suffers for this. I'm sorry, father. I miscalculated everything. You were right. I should have listened. I should not have fueled the anger in Zephiel's heart. I should have not changed a man because of my filthy revenge._

But there's no turning back now, Anko thought, as she continued to sift through Kumiko's letters. Kumiko—much relied on her now. She would need guiding. Knowing Kumiko, she would act rashly, only later out finding the consequences. She has to put herself in Zephiel's way in manners she wouldn't imagine—subtle ways, never her outright, frank ways. Knowing Kumiko, she would be rash, she would break herself out of Bern Keep and side with Lycia or Etruria as quickly as possible. _But that is not the way to go_, Anko thought. _Zephiel is angry enough with Guinevere missing. You are the only one he has now, Kumi. Leaving is the last thing we want you to do._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The next morning was damp, cold, and almost unbearable on her part. The queen hated cold mornings for the fact that she couldn't bring herself to get out of bed when it was cool, to the point that she thought the cool weather a barrier that kept her sleeping in her bed. But at the same time, she relished sleeping when the weather was cold, so on days like this the maidservants and her ladies left her alone until much later in the day, knowing she would want to sleep longer.

Yet she pulled herself and sat up, and blinked her eyes open to see Zephiel right there in the room, seated on her couch, sipping on something in a gold cup. Ah, Zephiel. He always slept so late and always woke up so early.

She groaned, rolling her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, good morning," he turned to her and nodded. "Something to drink?"

She repeated her question solidly, trying to sound threatening. "_What are you doing here_?"

"You don't think I can go wherever I please?"

She groaned again, but she pushed the bedcovers away from herself. She took the seat across him, looking at the tray of bread and jam and pastry set out on her low dining table, and taking a bite for herself. It was so early in the morning to feel bad and argue. That would have to wait until later.

He asked, "Did you sleep well?"

She shook her head.

"Same here."

"You never really get enough sleep, Zephiel," she pointed out in a tone that was tinged with slight concern. "You always slept later than me, but you always wake up before I do."

He was relieved to hear this light conversation from her—no confrontations about the war yet. "Ah, it's just that you sleep too much," he said with a smile.

A silence passed, wherein she would look up to him and then look away again, with hesitation in her face. He preoccupied himself trying to figure what that expression meant—there was a hint of coyness, hesitation, and a bit of a blush of embarassment there—but then she spoke.

"...May I know why?"

_Aha. So it was time for questions._ "Why what?" he asked.

"Why this war?" she asked, her eyes cast down on the carpeted floor. She spoke with a feminine softness that bordered on pleading—it was a tone he was foreign to because he had never heard her speak in it before.

Yet all he gave her was an immediate, "You may not know."

"And why not?" she asked, her tone consistent. He was beginning to think she trained her voice to sound just like that—soft and innocent, pleading but not, sweet but a little disappointed. It was, he thought, some sort of weapon that was devised to make him surrender.

Well, it was not going to make him.

"Because I do not think you have the right to know," he answered.

"I am your wife. I have every right."

"I am king," he said. "I have every right over you."

She muttered something under her breath—she might have cursed or she might have swore-and then groaned in defeat. The sweet charade was gone now. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she sipped on her warm ale.

He groaned as well. "I know what you're thinking," he said, and he meant it. "I know that you're thinking, 'there he goes again, telling me what to do and acting superior over me, treating me as if I'm a slave bound to obey all his orders'. God! Kumiko, will you ever grow up?"

"But it's true!" she insisted. "You always tell me what to do and what I should not do! You don't know how sick I am of all the formalities and subtleties of the castle!"

He groaned again, cursing this repetitive argument with her. They always argue about this, and he understood that she was just longing for her former lifestyle, but it was unbearable to have to argue about it with her time and again.

He wondered on how to stop this argument as she gazed at him expectantly, waiting for his response. The silver cup of ale was resting on her lap, still half full, and for a second he feared that she would spill it onto her pristine white nightgown.

"Kumiko," he said, his voice stern with authority, "I'm sorry to refute your words yet again. I _do not_ manipulate you, period. If I remind you of how you should manner in my castle, it's for your sake, not mine. Do you want me to tell you that I don't care that the courtiers think that you're an ill-mannered commoner who but charmed your way into this castle with your looks?"

"No," she whispered in reply.

"There," he said. "And my words are not orders, they are reminders. And you also know full well that you have but to ask something of me and I will surely see to it that you shall get it. In fact, you ask for quite a lot of things."

She rolled her eyes. She knew what he was talking about. In these two years, he's been nothing but kind, giving her what she wanted within good reason, be it fancy nightgowns, jobs to her friends, an excuse from formalities... he gave her everything. She didn't really ask for much, in contrary to his words, but when she asked for something, he made sure she got it.

"But you never loved me."

She said that in less than a whisper, but he still heard it clearly, every single word. "Excuse me?" he said, his tone slightly raised. "And you dare tell me that I never loved you?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes. Because if you do, you would trust me and just tell me why!"

"_Why_ would never satisfy you!" he exclaimed, getting up from his seat in frustration. "You would not stop pestering me until I die hearing you insist I stop the war. Just telling you why is prelude to all that!"

"You don't love me!" She stood up as well, the cup of ale in her lap spilling onto the floor out of the abrupt action.

"No, _you _don't love _me_!" he corrected her. "You wouldn't trust me with yourself, either! You wouldn't even let me touch the tips of your fingers!"

"It's because men all just want one thing from women!"

"No, they do not!"

She groaned, and then turned her back on him. He groaned as well and then slunk back to his seat.

"You are just so childish," he muttered to himself.

She stood there in silence, her back facing him, and for a second he wondered if she was crying.

And then she spoke, and her tone was calm, "You've always listened to me and gave me what I wanted. So why not this time?"

"Because I don't think you deserve it," he said.

She sighed, and went back to her seat. Why was he doing this? He was always a reasonable man... Or at least that's how she knew him to be...

He stared at her, as if expecting her to argue some more, but she said nothing.

"Well," he stood up, "I have early morning paperwork. I will see you later."

It was his escape, but she held on to his wrist, stopping him from leaving. He turned to her.

"Don't leave."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I feel lonely, and depressed, and all that... because of you and this war... This is all your fault, Zephiel. Please, just stop this. Take this pain away. Please, just listen to me. It hurts. _This _hurts. Please... Just... Stop."

In response to this, he knelt down on the carpeted floor, and he held her cheek, "Kumi, I know you're troubled, but it's not like I'm forcing you to partake in this war..."

"Zephiel... I feel bad merely knowing that there is a war. I want you to stop it. All of it. Please..."

He put a hand to her chin and help her face up, to look her in the eye. Her sapphire eyes were glossy with tears, and to see that caused something in his heart to ache—but his resolve was made. There was no changing it. "Look at you, Kumiko. You're a beautiful woman. Crying suits you ill. Don't cry anymore. But please don't make this difficult for us anymore. I have my decision and you cannot change it. Someday you will understand why I do this. I'm sorry."

And he held her face closer to his, and kissed her. She let him do so, but she did not kiss him back. She never would. She never returned any of the advances he made on her.

He only sighed, and left.

**End of Chapter.**

**Notes: **Wow... Kind Zephiel is alarming to write... That felt... unnatural. But I deduce Zephiel couldn't have just completely turned evil all of a sudden. He must retain some sort of softness, the one he had before. We see it in FE6 when he interacts with Guinevere—we see that he has a soft spot for her, but at the same time we also see that he has his mind set on what he wants.

My boyfriend left me. And that's how he is. That's what he told me. That I'm beautiful and crying doesn't suit me. That please, I should understand his decision. That... hurts. If I didn't already have a draft of this written down, this chapter would be absolutely delayed. The Journey readers, your wait will have to be longer. The next chapter I would have to write from scratch (unlike this one which I just have to edit and finalize) and I'm in no mood to write yet. Not something like The Journey at least. If it's not too much to ask, please pray for my healing. It's been a month or so and it still... hurts. So much. Especially that all our communication is lost. I'm only holding on to one promise—that he'll see me before he leaves the country sometime soon—but I don't know when. In three months? Two? Four? And I don't even know if he'll keep or remember that promise. It hurts to have all these doubts swirling in your mind. There's still an ache in my heart. Please pray for me if you can.

Wow... I'm writing Matthew-Xarin... Wow. What a surprise.

Kumi and Zephiel have an odd relationship... but I understand them. Does anyone else understand? XDD


	5. Fears

THREE | Fears

A/N: Warning: Dark scene ahead. Am changing the rating of this to M. No, no lemon. But I realized that this really is, as Naryfiel puts it, "a darker, more human tale".

BERN | Bern Keep

Kumiko, in two years, had grown quite familiar with Zephiel's morning routine. It consisted of tight discipline and waking up unbearably early—before sunrise. Zephiel was rumored to wake up before his attendants even did. He would wake up before sunrise, dress himself in his fighting gear, drink some warm ale, and oversee to the regular training of the soldiers, in which he would participate himself, exercising his swordsmanship. And then he would briefly meet with the Three Generals of Bern—Murdock, Brenya, and Narshen. An equally brief meeting with the Master of Spies, Anko, would follow. And then he would dress for court and have a private breakfast, with usually only Kumiko and Guinevere would take with him, and an honored guest, if there was one. And the list would go on—meeting with the Ministers, discussions with the scholars and strategists—oh, it was endless.

The first months that they were married, Kumiko tried to keep up with Zephiel's routine. She woke up early and watched him as he trained his soldiers, as he trained himself. He stood by him as he met with his Generals or his Ministers. But then eventually, she realized that he didn't need her help in making decisions or in his meetings. Zephiel was a genius—he had the solution to everything. And Kumiko never knew how to run a country—she refused to say anything or state her opinion in fear that she would embarrass Zephiel and herself. Even in military tactics, or in the art of fighting, Zephiel knew as much—or, so much more—than she did, she found that there was nothing for her to correct or speak for. She had no place in his routine, the routine of kings.

The role of queen, however, was not for her. She learned that queens were supposed to, like all wives, "run the home". And her home was Bern Keep itself, and her family and children everyone that worked and lived in it. But that was Guinevere's job, and did she do it well. Before she even married Zephiel, Guinevere had been effectively running the Keep. The princess had volunteered to educate her in the role and eventually give it up to her, but Kumiko refused, not wanting to look like an usurper who just suddenly took over the princess' place, when she was not even royalty. So she made up her own routine.

Kumiko was much opposite Zephiel's routine. She was only up when the sun has already risen, and then she would briefly wash herself and then take breakfast with Zephiel (who has by then already had two meetings and exercise) and Guinevere (who by then had already bathed and saw mass and oversaw the preparation of breakfast). And then activities that filled her day were not pressing activities, unlike Zephiel's. These included lounging with her few friends like Nino and Jaffar in the garden while having pastries, looking over the garden plants and seeing that they were well, watching the soldiers train from an outdoor tent, once in a while correcting a soldier who she just _knew_ was holding a weapon wrong or standing wrong. Most of her hours were spent in the library, reading and discussing with her ladies. Or she would travel from the keep in pursuit of things like science, like meeting Genevan inventors to see their innovations and how they would be useful to the country. Or she would visit the Liestal countryside and check on the harvest of their crops, and cook with the housewives and gossip all day long. The citizens loved her for stepping out of the Keep to connect with them more than any queen over has. The noblemen hated her because she seemed like a useless queen who was only dilly-dallying and was only good for her looks—a trophy queen to a perfect King of Bern.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The next morning seemed ordinary to Kumiko, another day fitting in to her ordinary routine. She woke up only when the sun was up, hurriedly washed and dressed, and, in an act of rebellion against Zephiel, ordered her breakfast alone in her chambers.

The disappearance of Guinevere would have made the princess' responsibilities fall onto Kumiko's shoulders, but they never did, they fell onto the shoulders of the Master of the Protocol, as assigned by Zephiel. So Kumiko's day continued to her long hot bath, and then, she decided, into a visit to Anko, the castle's Master of Spies.

Anko and Kumiko were friends of old—they were friends ever since they were seven—and Anko's father, a military tactician, took Kumiko in his care when Kumiko's parents died. This pretty much makes Anko and Kumiko sisters—unbound by blood but bound by a deep friendship and understanding of each other. That relationship, however, changed when Kumiko found out that Anko was a spy—the Master of Spies—for Bern Keep. Kumiko's current situation, being queen of Bern, can be blamed on Anko. She was the schemer behind the meeting of the king and the once-tactician Kumiko. When Kumiko found this out, she felt a slight resentment towards Anko—she knew that their friendship would never be the same.

The queen went to the Anko's office, her bodyguard Jaffar trailing not far behind her. It would be her first time to visit the spy once again in quite a while. The stupendous location of the spy's office was an added factor as well—they had to climb a ridiculous flight of stairs to reach Anko. When she reached the room, Kumiko was panting, and then she knocked hard against the door and said, "Anko! Anko! I know you're in there!"

There was no answer for about a minute, in which Kumiko continued to persistently tap on the door, dramatically adding, "I'm about to faint from walking up all those stairs, so open up!" When the door did open, Anko was there, leaning against the doorpost, looking smug.

"How can you know I'm in here?" Anko asked, eyebrows raised, as she studied her fingernails as if they were a matter of much importance. "I could be at the Tactician Guild, I could be at a pub drinking, I could be assigned to a top secret mission where no one but the best spy is needed, or seeing to it that Heath's hair isn't the mess that it's known to be. What do you need?"

"I need to talk," Kumiko said, a demand.

"Let me guess. About the war?"

The queen nodded.

"Come in, then," Anko invited the queen to her office, and they went inside, while Jaffar stayed by the door. "Been a while since I had you to chat. Maybe you can help me clean up as well, it's a mess in here."

The office of the Master of Spies was filled with papers, documents, scrolls, parchment and books, all arranged into bookcases and chests. Despite the appearance of Anko, she has a knack for arranging her documents. But despite that knack for arrangement, Anko's office was currently overridden by papers—the too numerous letters to Bern Keep, asking what is happening and what the war was about. Kumiko, for a second, found herself lost in the mountainous stack of volumes and papers.

"Oh, I have something for you," Anko said, as she started to look in the drawers of her desk.

Though Anko was technically part of the king's court, she never dressed like a courtier. Her hair was a dark shade of purple that came close to black, held up on her head by a gold clamp with little bells that rang as she moved about. Her blouse, silk or some such, was loose with its neckline plunged into a deep V towards her chest. She wore knee-high boots, and short skirts. She was a stark contrast to the courtiers in their fancy, sumptuous gowns, so it would always be easy to spot her in court. She didn't even dress like a _Master_ of Spies. Merely… a spy. Never the _master_. Kumiko remembered Matthew in his dashing white tailored shirts of impeccable make and his dashing black and gold coat—he looked more an ambassador than a spy, an official member of Ostia's court rather than a man doing all the dirty work and pulling all the dirty reins. But that was Lycia. That was Ostia. They cared for appearances. This was Bern. All the Bernese cared about was that the work was done and done well, damn appearances. _Practicality above aesthetics_. Anko was a great embodiment of that.

"Here it is," Anko came out with a folded parchment, and handed it to the queen. Kumiko took it and studied it for a while—it had no indication or writing of any sort in the outer folds. So she opened it and when she did, she gasped.

She knew that handwriting. It was of—and she had just been thinking of him a while ago!—Matthew, the Master of Spies for Lycia, Ostia. He was a dear friend to Kumiko, and she was much familiar with the curves and lines of his handwriting. She was stunned for a while, but then she read through the document, which was a letter.

_Kumiko,_

_I've heard that Bern is starting war, and that Ilia and Sacae are now taken by your country. This is all a joke, right? Or so I want to think. My network confirms to me that this is true indeed. I hope you don't tell me that Lycia is going next. We're trying to tighten our defenses. Lord Hector doesn't know what to do. He should be calling on all the lords of Lycia at some time. But Kumiko, you're there, right? You're still in the castle? I don't understand what's going on! When I heard the news, all I could do is write to you. You're safe, right? I hope you are._

_-Matthew_

It was Matthew indeed. He, despite being a Master Spy, did not prod Kumiko for information regarding the war, but instead just asks of how she is. Of course. He knew how Kumiko believes in peace, and thinks that if war is started by her country, it would mean that she was in danger, that she had no hand in it at all.

Shocked, so many questions start running into Kumiko's head. How long ago was this? Is Matthew alright? Is Ostia alright? But the one she asked was, "Has the king seen this?"

"Yes," Anko answered, not surprising Kumiko. He had always checked all the letters she might receive. Always, she got a little upset with him when she would find that she has received a letter opened and unsealed by him already. "He gave it to me for archiving," Anko said.

Ah, _archiving. _The euphemism for the unforgivable "keep it but never show it to her".

Kumiko looked down at the letter again, and then, gave the spy a puzzled look. "_Why_ did you give it to me?"

Anko shrugged. "I don't know. Whim, maybe. You know I can get away with it."

Kumiko didn't believe her. Anko was always one to have ulterior motives, which she has proved time and again. Anko was the Queen of Ulterior Motives. But whatever her motive might be, this act was beneficial to Kumi. She'd rather have this than have the thing hidden from her. "Anko," Kumiko said gravely, "What do you know about this war? Why has my king started it? Please tell me!"

"Whoah!" Anko backed away into her seat, making a display of surprise. "If I tell you, I might as well not live to see the day. That I gave you the letter was trouble enough! Zephiel would have my head."

Zephiel. Anko always just referred to him as 'Zephiel' when no one would hear. Of course, Kumiko thought. In ways, she is more of his friend than she is mine. "I won't tell anyone," Kumiko said, sounding like she was taking a solemn oath.

The spy shook her head. "I know you too much for that. If I tell you specifics, you would repeat them to the king in an argument with him. And of course, who would he think told you the information?"

An annoying argument, but Anko was right. Kumiko was never good at keeping secrets—one could easily detect when she was lying or acting. So instead, Kumiko asked another question. "How long has this letter been here?"

The spy looked up to the ceilings of her office for a while, pretending to ponder the question. "Let's see… A month ago, I presume. Exactly after Sacae and Ilia were taken. That Matthew person knows of a fast way of delivering letters, huh? He's really a Master Spy."

_A month ago? It was a month ago! So many things can happen in a month! Lycia could be taken in a month!_

"The king," Kumiko said, feeling her chest tightening as she spoke, her breath coming in shorter bursts, all in shock—this was too much! A month ago! "I have to talk to him! I have to tell Zephiel that this is stupid and utter nonsense and-"

"I hear you tell that to him often enough," Anko said, rolling her eyes. "And how are you going to tell him when he's not even here?"

Kumiko literally felt her breathing stop for a few seconds when she heard Anko's words. "…He's not here? Surely you mean, he's not here, meaning this very space this very moment?"

It was Anko's turn to be puzzled this time, and when she realized what this meant, she actually gasped, and it was genuine. "Goodness! You don't—He didn't tell you? He didn't tell you he left?"

"To where?"

"I saw him," Anko said, getting up from her chair and pacing around, looking genuinely troubled. "He left before sunrise with Narshen and his soldiers. I don't know to where. He never told me."

That was all Kumiko needed to hear to stand and slam her fist on the low table before them, and exclaim, "Anko! I have to stop him! Wherever he's going, if he's bringing his soldiers, then it can't be for a good cause!"

"I assume you had known," said Anko, meaning it, as she looked directly into Kumiko's eyes when she spoke. "He has always told you when he would be leaving, aye? He has always told you when he had trips, even if they were the military kind."

Yes, Kumiko told herself. He had always told her. And if he did not this time, than it probably meant he thought it would be better that she didn't know… And that could mean no good for her.

"Oh no," Kumiko said. "Oh no. He is probably on a military attack. …I have to stop him! If I go after him now, then maybe I can still find him, and stop him!"

"Are you mad?" Anko told the queen, growing as frustrated as her. "There is no way you are finding Zephiel when you have no clue! The continent is huge, Kumiko! I think it's best you wait this out. Zephiel would eventually come back, and then you could ask-"

"Anko! Father would be ashamed of you!" Kumiko screamed, unable to hold it in. "You—you know where he is, right? You're siding with him! You didn't train all your life to be a great tactician and spy just to promote war? Or did you? Did you?"

Anko froze in place, hurt by Kumiko's accusations. _You don't know the pressure I am going through right now. You don't know that I am not any fond of war and that I have no idea what Zephiel is up to. You have no idea how much I blame myself for turning Zephiel into this monster, by breathing in to his ear to do it, to kill Desmond. I had no idea things would turn out like this._ But Anko did not say that. She was still, thinking for a few seconds, choosing which card to play. And then she said, "I serve the one who gives me my pay! My loyalty is to my king! You! You're the queen of Bern! Don't tell me your loyalty is to Lycia, or Etruria, or anyone else?"

"The King of Bern is WRONG!" Kumiko screamed in a volume that silenced both her and Anko. She paused to catch her breath. "…He's… absolutely wrong."

Jaffar had entered the office, alarmed because of the queen's screams. When he saw that the two women were having an argument, he stayed still in a corner, almost unfelt by the women.

The queen gathered her full skirt and bent down to pick up the letter from Matthew, panic clearly seen in her actions. "…It seems to me Zephiel is starting to trust you less," Anko said, taking on a softer tone now. "If I were you I would stop acting rashly and reexamine where I stand in this war. You have all your friends out there in the continent, but what about us, your friends here in Bern? If the king should know that I gave you information, I would more or less lose my life. Not only me, but Heath, and Nino, and Jaffar… Would you endanger the few allies you have in the castle just because of a rash decision?"

_You just want your position. You just want your riches and your title. You don't even care what I really feel. What should I expect? You sold me to that monster two years ago._

Kumiko let out a frustrated sigh, looking as pale as death, holding on to one of Anko's chairs for support, as if she were about to collapse.

"I think," Anko spoke, but to Jaffar, who was silently lurking there in a corner of the office, "that you should see that Kumi gets back in her room and lies down for a while before she overexerts herself…"

Jaffar obliged to this by approaching Kumiko quietly, taking her lightly on the shoulder and on the arm, leading her out of Anko's office.

_You're not the only one in pain, Kumi. You're not the only one._

BERN KEEP | The Queen's Chambers

"Zephiel, I don't want to be with you anymore! I never wanted to in the first place!" she told him, emotions long buried in her heart finally surfacing and finally pouring out. "I thought I could help people if I were queen, just as you said, but I didn't know that this would be a curse to my life! And I want you to know that that's just why I did it—because I want to help people. Not because of some stupid infatuation for you and—oh, love is even more impossible! That's why I don't want any of this anymore! I absolutely hate you!"

He said nothing, but his features all but spelt it out. He was looking at her darkly, his face stern and unforgiving, as if everything she said was unforgivable. She had seen this face before, Kumiko thought with a shudder. Not on Zephiel, though, but Kumiko very well knew that this was the face of a man determined that a person before him was already useless, and he would not hesitate to end her himself.

Kumiko felt herself backing away from him in fright. "You'll regret you said that," Zephiel said, his tone meaning it. "All of that. …Useless wench"

She was backing away from him, eager to run from him, but he was all too quick and strong—he seized her and pinned her to the bed, his hands with a death grip on her wrists to keep them from flailing, his legs pinning her own to keep her from kicking him. She was about to yell for help but then his mouth crushed against hers, kissing her maliciously, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Kumiko flinched, still trying to resist as he pulled her hand to his chest, forcing her to touch him, pushing her hand lower down his body…

_ No, no no! Help me! Please help me! Someone help me!_

_ My lady! Lady Kumiko, please! Please wake up!_

Kumiko opened her eyes to see her red-haired attendant Miranda looking worried over her. She blinked, very much aware of the nightmare she saw in her dreams, and also very much aware that she was still panting and sweating out of fear. _A nightmare. Just a nightmare._

"…Zephiel would never do that to me," Kumiko said, as if to the air. _Two years, and Zephiel has never done that to me. He has never forced me to do anything I do not want._

"Your Majesty?" Miranda asked, puzzled as to what the queen was saying.

_ But that was two years ago. What about now? Now I am a useless piece. What use does he still have of me? That man is not capable of love. When I refuse to act according to how he expects and when I no longer have his favor, he will no longer treat me kindly. Just like that bastard Marquis of Regrada did to my mother. Just like Zephiel would do to me._

"Oh, my lady!" Miranda gasped, as she saw silent tears streaking down Kumiko's cheeks. The queen blinked and stirred when she realized that she had been crying, and then made an effort to smile and laugh it off, but she was surprised when Miranda suddenly took her in an embrace and started stroking her back to comfort her.

The tears started coming again. And then Kumiko asked, still as if to the air, as if she were still in a daze, "Zephiel wouldn't do that, would he?"

"Of course he wouldn't," Miranda said, trying to comfort. "His Majesty never would. He will not leave you or harm you. As long as you stay by his side."

_He will not leave you or harm you._ Of course. It was Zephiel they were talking about. He was always civil when it came to women. And he has never raised a hand against her or forced her into anything.

…_As long as you stay by his side. _

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The next morning, the king was still away, and Kumiko, for once, wanted him to be around. It was a rare emotion she has never encountered before—wishing for the king's presence—but this time, she wished it not because she wanted to be with him, but because she was scared of what he can do at wherever he is. She paced back and forth in her room the evening before, which concerned her attendants very much. She didn't speak, she said nothing, and they could notice her running her fingers between the pleats of her velvet ochre dress furiously, as if it were a vice.

There would be no court session because the king was not present, and the courtiers and noblemen idled about the castle, bumbling around and doing their own business. Kumiko was one such who idled as well—at least that was what others might perceive it. She was utterly confused, and without any other ally to turn to, all she could do was discuss repeatedly with Nino and Jaffar about her worries.

Nino and Jaffar listened to her and tried to ease her without fail. The couple were a perfect match in the sense that, Nino, understanding the queen's emotions and frustrations, gave her much needed emotional support and comforting, while Jaffar, once an assassin, would still remind the queen of the more logical courses of action and prevent her from doing anything rash.

For the most part of the day, Kumiko was doing just that—staying in her apartments, entertained by Nino and her ladies, in constant intelligent conversation. She tried not to talk too much of the war, of Zephiel, and of her obvious disapproval of it—lest the ladies start thinking she complained too much or was absolutely single-minded, upon other things. But for the most part, she failed. She still spoke much about her opinion that the war was absolutely absurd and should be stopped at all costs.

"Good day, my lady queen."

The conversation stopped, and all eyes turned to the open doorway to the Queen's Apartments as Anko stood there and boldly walked into the room—a misfit in a sea of women in elegant gowns and polite conversation. The spy was in her usual wear—leather working boots and short skirt and all—but what was unusual was the look on her face. It was serious… yes, serious. She waved a piece of folded parchment in her hands as she walked towards the queen, who straightened and stood to meet her.

"A letter," Anko said, as she knelt before Kumiko and handed out the parchment to her. Anko would always treat Kumiko like a close friend, but when the occasion calls for it (that is, when there are other people watching) she would treat the queen like the queen that she is.

Kumiko took it, and took a breath before opening it. It could be from her husband, or maybe, just maybe, from an old friend like Matthew or Hector.

She opened it and found uneven, block-like letters, the lines none too steady, as if whoever was writing had a shaking writing hand. She had no idea of the handwriting, but at the end she found that it was signed by Matthew, Ostia's Master of Spies. She immediately read through the letter.

_Kumiko,_

_I don't know if you've received my first letter, but I just had to try. You must be aware by now of what's going on with the continent. I have something important to tell you._

_I was just thinking about things I need to finish as head of the Spy Network of Ostia, since I was getting tired and old from spy work. It was then that it happened. Castle Ostia, famed for being impregnable, was attacked by Bern soldiers. It seems some of our castle guard and knights sided with them, too-those curs. I am a thief and a liar by profession, and yet I've never thought of backstabbing Ostia. And to make things worse, Lord Hector was then at a meeting in Araphen, with some of his finest knights, and that included Oswin and Serra._

_I immediately ran for Lady Lyn and Lilina, but it took me long to get there. Those Bern soldiers just came from everywhere! When I reached Lady Lyn and Lilina, I just... I came to the scene with Lady Lyn bravely trying to protect her little girl, but unfortunately I witnessed her fall to a Bern soldier... I can still see it clearly, that sword buried into her mid-section..._

_Time froze for me. Not only was Lord Hector gonna kill me for being unable to protect his wife... Lady Lyn was a very kind person... I actually felt as bad as I did when Leila died... Oh, darn, this is bringing back sad memories..._

_I managed to take Lilina, though, but those Bern soldiers were on my trail. I got beat up, and the girl was taken and I was sure I was a goner, but Xarin came to my rescue. Talk about a twist of fate. I was trying to rescue a girl and I end up being rescued by one._

_I have a sword wound on my right shoulder that renders my entire right arm useless. It will heal, Xarin assures me, but I think I'm not that positive. It hurts like hell just to move it. I can very much use my left hand to fight and do thief work, but not much to write. Sorry about my letters. I still can't help but feel, though, that this wound makes me all the more useless of the moment. I'm not as dependable with my right arm like this. I feel bad, especially seeing that Xarin has to take up the brunt of the work and fighting that I can't do by myself. I owe her big time now._

_We're safe, but we don't know for how long, and we don't know where Lilina is. We've no news from Araphen, so I'm actually worried for Lord Hector, and miraculously I'm also worried for Serra and Oswin… I'm trying to keep my hopes up, but I've heard alarming rumors…_

_But what face do I have to show to Lord Hector? I let his wife die just like that in front of me, and I let his daughter get taken away! The only thing saving me from the thought of slitting my wrist is Xarin here who keeps reminding me that I am the leader of the spies of Ostia. I can't break down, for the sake of our spies all over the continent who must've already heard of Castle Ostia's fall. If their leader breaks down, our top-class spies would wander aimlessly, maybe even going over to Bern's side. You know us spies—we're an odd bunch. Some of our spies could easily defect to Bern. I don't want that happening._

_Xarin has kept herself strong through all this. She really should be the role model for a spy—I can't help but wonder where that woman gets her strength from. Sometimes I wish she would just embrace me and tell me everything is going to be okay, like my mom would do, like YOU would do. But rather, she only tells me, Matthew, there's more work to be done. I have a gut feel that if I don't pick myself up, she'd kick me down into the dirt until I do. And I don't want a woman kicking me down, so I've got to work and heal and get better._

_We're sneaking into Castle Ostia tomorrow to find Lady Lyn's body and at least give it a decent burial. The Lady of Ostia doesn't deserve to be just left like that... I've heard that Lilina is kept hostage, but she's safe. That just leaves Lord Hector, Oswin, and Serra. They've been gone for long. I actually prayed for the first time in years that they be safe..._

_I know it's a laughable idea to be writing to the queen of the country who's the cause for all this, but I'm not addressing you as queen of Bern. Although I do want to question you for the insane acts your country is starting and information about that is welcome, you are still my good friend, Kumiko, and right now is a time for friends. _

_Oh, I have to stop writing. Xarin's here. She'd tell something incredibly biting if she finds out I'm penning a letter to you, of all people. Because, of course! I figure I've written down too much for safe—but I don't have anyone to talk to, anyone to trust. Kumiko, I know you're not mad enough to support a war. I hope you're still the same tactician I knew from before. And more than that, I hope you're alive._

_-Matthew_

By the time Kumiko finished the letter, silent tears were already sliding down her cheeks. Anko watched this—she expected Kumiko to act like this, after all. She would cry, but she would fight, yes she would.

And then Kumiko found another slip of paper—this time it had Anko's undeniable handwriting on it.

_That Matthew person really knows of a way to deliver letters fast. Odd how his letter arrived before the king did. The Tactician Guild is holding a meeting later this afternoon. I've come to tell you that. Mark and the others will be there. We'll talk about things. If you can get away with it, I hope you attend the meeting. Jaffar's there for a reason, isn't he?_

When Kumiko lifted her head from the parchment to ask, Anko was already walking away. The ladies murmured at the Master Spy's rudeness, but Kumiko knew that when it came to matters about the Tactician Guild—which she was still part of—there were no royalties, no kings or queens. It was Anko's guild, and she was the boss. There would be a meeting later this afternoon, and she just had to be there.

**End of Chapter.**

A/N: Apologies for that dark rape scene. I couldn't think of anything to separate the two events with both Anko and Kumi in it, so I made that up—it just seemed appropriate right after Kumiko getting angry at Zephiel right after her argument with Anko. I figure I have to touch upon the issue why Kumiko refuses to open up to Zephiel after being married to him for two years. Why she somehow admires him but still decides to put up a 'wall' between them. In the Journey, since it's genre is generally lighter, I am unable to touch on this darker side, only keeping it light mentions of Kumiko's past. Also, why Kumiko hates to work for nobles aside from the ones she knows and hates most nobles in general and why she shows no regret and even likes the fact that her blood father is dead by murder. And, I figured, as a female tactician, Kumiko exists in a man's world always trying hard to prove herself good enough even against a man, as is seen in her days in the Military Academy. Those are why, in a way, she fears submitting to a man, especially one like Zephiel. I am unable to explore much of this "darker more human side" in the Journey, as its genre is actually different and its audience even more different. And FE6 is generally a darker tale than FE7. Thanks to this scene my rating for Bern has jumped up to M. Don't worry, not all chapters will be this dark. I felt like I just had to do this one scene. And no major lemons ahead. If the scene hurt your mind, err, just pretend you never read it. XD

Dark, heavy chapter I know. Don't worry, I got the next chapter for you guys to move on to real soon. Please review! Does anyone particularly support this 'darker, more human tale' or should I stick to making it a 'fairy tale and lighter read'? Flame me if you must. I'm open to opinion, as usual.

EDIT: Possible timeline error to be fixed up next chapter.

PS: Etrurian/Elibe-in-general politics will have to wait but it's coming up soon. We all know that Kumiko is so leaving and not staying in Bern Keep, haha. XD As for pairing requests, I want to be frank that I am not at all that familiar with _all _the characters of FE6. I played through it once and finished it once, that's it. I am not familiar with all the support conversations. I will probably highlight only certain characters. Request if you have anyone in mind. One of the major purposes of this fic, after all, is the story of FE6 retaining the viewpoint of FE7, so we'll still tie-in some FE7 characters here (as seen with Matt).

PPS: I won't be working in Journey real soon. But one day I'll get back to it, for the meantime I'll pour my attention to Bern. Nothing that will appear here will essentially spoil Journey, so no worries. (We all know that it's Kumi-Zephiel anyway.)


	6. Complex Web

CHAPTER FOUR | Complex Web

A/N: Told you update will be soon.

BERN CAPITAL | The Tactician Guild

Anko wandered inside a wyvern stable that was ridiculously situated in the middle of nowhere in a forest of the capital—what an odd, odd place to keep a wyvern. Most of the wyvern knights of Bern kept their wyverns in the royal stables—not in the middle of a forest, not at all.

The inhabitant of that stable was missing, though. All that remained were stacks of hay and a single cot for the man who slept there—ridiculous man, sleeping near his mount—and then there was the crate of carrots the wyvern loved to indulge in. Anko never knew why she agreed to this. Or why she even _volunteered _it, to be exact. She could not imagine her father's reaction to having a wyvern stable built on top of the entirely underground Tactician Guild. Well, at least the Guild now had an easy landmark for their members to spot.

The cry of a hawk came to break the silence, and then Anko turned to see the bird perching onto the stable's open window.

"_Ah. There you are,_" said Anko softly, as she approached the hawk, noticing the small rolled note tied to its leg. She pulled the note out, and read it to herself.

_Currently in Araphen. Was not aware that we were going to Lycia. Lord Hector of Ostia alive. At least for now. His wounds are grave. Lycia in ruins. Don't know when the return will be. Probably tomorrow or late this evening. Am not permitted to leave the Keep yet. Military exercises and activities too many. Will clean the stable when I can. -H._

Anko reread the note again, and then shoved it into her pocket. Tomorrow or late this evening. Quite positively, it would have to be tomorrow. The travel would take that long. But then again, it depended on what had to be done in Araphen in the first place. Definitely a military attack, but of what kind? For what cause? The note did not include an answer to those questions. And, if it were this evening, then the meeting had to be finished quickly, and all their guild's members taken care of. Zephiel must not know they ever set foot on Bern soil.

And for a second, Anko's thoughts turned lighter as she caught a good whiff of the sable. _Eww. Come back soon, Heath, and clean up this mess. I am NOT cleaning after Hyperion. _

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Jaffar spectacularly and flawlessly smuggled Kumiko out of her own castle. The act of going away in secret was absolutely necessary—because though Kumiko was Queen, the loyalty of much of the castle was on their King. Anyone could tell on her. In fact, Kumiko felt that strict orders were given to watch over her, but the skill of those men where simply nothing in comparison to the man once called "Angel of Death". Jaffar.

To the queen, he was an invaluable ally, along with his wife Nino. She could go into the most dangerous places she could think of with only Nino and Jaffar and believe they would be safe. Nino's mastery of magic was without parallel, as was Jaffar's prowess in battle. They were her best friends, attendants, and at the same time, bodyguards.

"You made it." Anko didn't seem surprised the moment she opened the door for the queen. There was a chill outside, thus Kumiko and Jaffar were garbed heavily. The queen wore a white velvet coat with a hood and Anko couldn't help but snicker when she thought that it was such an expensive coat, anyone would have to be blind to not realize that no one but the queen could have possibly worn it. The guards they kept at the Keep were certainly blind if she had slipped past them. Or, Jaffar was just that good.

"I see you even have your bodyguard with you."Anko glanced up to Jaffar, regarding him with a smug smile, to which Jaffar furrowed his eyebrows ever so slightly in question. He has never changed—never one to make small talk and awkward when people paid him attention. For the most part, he would not care for whatever Anko said about him, and her remarks must be innocent—however, she was a spy, and her work was not far from the one he was familiar with, so they tended to look at each other as challenges.

"Anko," Kumiko began, as she entered the receiving room of the guild, Jaffar following her movements very closely, closing the door behind them. "You're going to get me out of trouble with the king on this one, aren't you?"

"Has he arrived yet?" Anko asked.

Kumiko shook her head. "No, but I don't know if that would make me feel glad or not."

"Well, I'm sure I can think up of something to save my own skin for this one," Anko said. "After all, I don't think you'll get in much trouble for this. _Unless _you make the trouble for yourself. But I think the king won't have you killed no matter what—but my head he can have at any day. I am much worried for myself because of this meeting."

_I however, think the opposite_, Kumiko thought. _He could kill me any day—YOU, however, are an invaluable ally to him and someone he cannot do without._

Before Kumiko could say something, Anko said, "I'm going to go fix something warm to drink for you and Jaffar here," and excused herself from the room.

So Kumiko turned to Jaffar. The man regarded her with a seemingly blank look which would have made another feel awkward, but Kumiko was much used to it. "Jaffar, thank you for sneaking me out of the castle," she said, "You can leave me here now. If His Highness finds both of us missing, he will immediately link you as responsible for it. I want you to stand by Nino as well. She is much safer with you."

Jaffar nodded. He agreed that that was sound and logical. But… "How will you return to the castle?" he asked.

When she was silent for longer than he wanted, he rephrased the question, "Kumiko... will you ever return to the castle?"

"Perhaps. I shall think of it," she answered. "If I want to return, I'll find my way. I probably will, but I am not in the best of moods now. But, don't worry for me. I'll be perfectly fine here in the Guild."

Jaffar knew that—of course, Kumiko will be absolutely fine in their guild stronghold, under Anko's protection as well. What he was worried about, though, was Kumiko losing favor with Zephiel. "...The king is always looking for you," he said. "What if he arrives and finds that you are missing?"

"If worse comes to worst, just tell him I am here at the Guild. That would make him turn to Anko. But he trusts Anko a fair amount, so she'll be safe. He has always allowed me to visit the Guild as often as I pleased, anyway."

"…Something tells me that now is not part of those times where His Majesty will allow you to go and do as you please."

Kumiko sighed, getting a bit irritated. Jaffar had agreed to lead her here—what was the matter with him now? "Jaffar, you don't have to worry. I'll be perfectly safe."

Jaffar gave a few plaintive blinks—Kumiko was not understanding his point at all. _I know you will be safe. I just doubt Nino and I will be if you lose the king's favor. _"Come back soon, Kumiko. That is all I ask."

And then he took leave.

"He's gone?" Anko's voice carried as she entered the receiving room once again, holding a cup of soup. "Pity. You should have at least let him take a sip."

"He had to. He must be there to look over his wife. Anyway," Kumiko said as she took a bowl of soup from Anko, taking it for herself and sipping it, "Where are the others?"

Anko grinned. "All there in the meeting room. Waiting for you."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Tactician Guild—composed of individuals both intelligent and cunning. All tacticians, all with a mastery of war and battle tactics. Some fighters, some spies, some mages, and one, a queen.

But one thing was clear. All of them made money through war.

Kumiko walked into the meeting room—more precisely, the dining room—and found five individuals seated there on the old, moldy dining table of wood, pondering an issue or the other. When she entered, all those five faces turned towards her, and the weatherbeaten, aged faces of her friends greeted her.

_Fifteen years... is such a long time._

"...Nice to have you, _Your Highness_," The greeting came from Xarin, spy of Ostia, but it came with no cheer at all, the greeting almost sounding sarcastic. But that was how Xarin was. Always one to sound sour. She looked the part, too, Kumiko noted in a moment of wicked humor. She seemed weary from travel, deep brown hair a bit of a mess, the edges of her lips pulling down to a dangerous frown. And did she actually smell like wine? Ah, the cold beauty of the Guild, Xarin. Still the same. Aged yet beautiful, but still the same. Still a lethal spy, no doubt.

She ignored the seemingly barbed greeting from the spy, as Anko ushered her to a seat on the dining table, and Bern's very own Master Spy proceeded to scoop out hot chicken broth for the members of her guild. Anko would, in her very own home, never seemed like the country's Master Spy living in a web of intrigue. She was a homeowner, and that was that. She has done her fair share of aging herself. But Kumiko has seen the spy all along those fifteen years, and so she was less shocked of the changes in her features—the lines in her face, the occasional grey in her hair... not surprising at all.

Kumiko turned to Knarrd and Miguel, Magic Advisor and Military Advisor to Etruria, respectively. They had turned to face each other and Kumiko found that they were actually caught in a game of cards, no doubt to pass time. Miguel, the brash brute of the Guild, still looked the part—his lengthy hair and beard seemed to grow thicker from the last time Kumiko saw him, and he frequently had that expression of grunt on his face that reminded Kumiko of Ostia's Lord Hector. A man who, once having found a reason to fight, fights to the end. That was the kind of man Miguel was. He has gotten bigger over the years, all those years as a Knight. He was such a sharp contrast to Knarrd-small, silent, calm. He was, eerily, the only person on the Guild who did not seem to age much. And effect of the Magics, Knarrd says. His continued use of the dark arts or one thing or the other related to it has made way for this.

Jenro, Military Advisor to Pherae, Lycia, was seated beside Xarin and trying to occupry her attention with a discussion about his latest writing endeavor. Ah, Jenro. The Guild's very own scholar. He was still the same—still in that same lanky body drowned in clothes. His thick glasses were a standard, and his dark hair perpetually styled wildly showed only a few signs of grey, as he was actually one of the younger tacticians, just about Kumiko's age.

And lastly, Mark, their leader, the "Famed Genius" sat at the head of the table, silently scanning on some notes in his logbook. His brown hair was cut and styled neatly—he must have just had it cut recently—and his eyes looked tired but alert behind his glasses. In an odd way, Kumiko was reminded of Alecto, their mentor who was long passed, and it seemed that Mark, with each passing year, has grown to become like him. Kumiko admits, Mark is the better—no, the best—tactician among them all. His leadership skills were also to be praised, but he garners no glorious fame, not like the fame she received. _"Because I'm a man,"_ Mark used to say. _"It's natural for men to have knowledge in tactics, so if ever you do well, not a lot of people notice it."_

Kumiko gazed around the hall again one last time as she took her seat beside Mark. It had been so long, she thought. Far too long since their group had been together like this. The last time was probably fifteen years ago, when their mentor died. And even back then they had been distant to each other. It had been so long—the time when they were all a family. They were all tacticians now, for their own countries. Much had to be talked about. Would that awfully long time apart each other make them fonder of each other now? Or would it only result in dissention and separation? Miguel, hot-headed as ever, might want separation. Xarin would always see the negative in everything. Knarrd would only second whatever Miguel said. And Anko would always be unpredictable-

"We're still missing Nerisa," Mark told Kumiko as she settled herself. "I believe she'll have a wonderful excuse such as a hailstorm up her sleeve when she gets here," he said, as he looked up to her with an easy smile.

Kumiko giggled—Mark at least was a relief to see. They had been like siblings and they were most close—he had been like a brother to her. And he had never changed. Neither war nor tactics can ever change Mark, she thought. And he was their leader. Despite Anko technically "owning" the Guild since they were once looked over by her father, the responsibility of leading them was specifically passed onto Mark. A quiet calm entered Kumiko as she realized, Mark would never let their group fall apart. Never.

And finally in a few moments, Nerisa arrived, with such daft excuse in tow as Mark predicted. And then all took their seats, and Mark spoke:

"Well, since we're all here, I think it is appropriate for this meeting to commence now."

And with that statement the members straightened, all eyes on Mark. Chats stopped, the food was set aside, and Anko, who was serving, finally took a seat, opting to sit apart from them, beside the low table she had set to hold the food. It was almost as if she were refusing to sit with them, Kumiko noted, displaying where her loyalty was already. Kumiko was not the only one to notice it. She actually saw Xarin give the quickest threatening sidelong glance at the other spy.

"Though I'd love to have chit-chats with all of you,"-Mark fixed his glasses and began,-"we all know business comes first. We are here to discuss the details of this current war that Bern is waging on the entire continent. First off, I want reports from everyone. I want to hear from Lycia."

Jenro, tactician to Pherae, said, "Lycia is the recent target of Bern, so war wages at every mountain border. The dukes of Lycia, headed by Lord Hector of Ostia, would have immediately formed the Lycia alliance army, but..."

"But for all we know…" Xarin drifted off, and then continued, "Well, the supposedly meeting in Araphen of the dukes was attacked by Bern. The Lycia Alliance Army is now headed by Roy, son of Lord Eliwood of Pherae, but he gets little if no help from the other dukes—or what remains of the other dukes. Basically, everyone just cares for their own land and not for Lycia as a whole. If this goes on, Lycia will fall."

"W-Wait," Kumiko interrupted, noticing a hole in Xarin's statements. "Lord Hector?" she asked. "Why can't Lord Hector lead the Alliance? Why must Roy do it? Where is Lord Hector?"

Xarin looked at Kumiko gravely, and said, "Bern led a surprise attack on the meeting of the dukes in Araphen… and then attacked Castle Ostia. I survived Araphen… but I am not sure of the others. Including Lord Hector... I cannot be sure if he is well, but we're heard nothing from him…"

Shock took Kumiko along with a gasp, and she sunk deeper into her chair, whispering, "No…"

"…I have just received information that Lord Oswin is dead," Xarin continued. "We couldn't find Serra, and I honestly wish her well. Lady Lyndis died trying to defend Castle Ostia."

Xarin's statements wore on her more and more, and Kumiko neared tears. While she knew from Matthew's letter that Ostia's Lady Lyndis had passed, she had hoped that not almost everyone from Ostia that she held dear… "And Matthew?" Kumiko managed to ask. "I know Matthew. If he were safe, he would come with you here. Where is he?"

"He's wounded gravely, in a way that might render his entire right arm useless." Xarin consciously avoided glancing at Anko, knowing she couldn't give much away. Matthew was probably Lycia's Master Spy, and an asset, even while unable to fight much. "His skills probably wouldn't be the same, ever. I've been trying to kick some sense into him, but no luck." Xarin said, intentionally being more negative. She thought otherwise, though. She knew the wound would be nothing to a master cleric, and she knew Matthew would never rest knowing that he hasn't done anything to avenge Ostia.

Kumiko, however, bought her words. All eyes were on her, as she shook her head, as if willing to prevent tears from flowing by the action. "Oh… Who… Who lead the attack on Araphen and Ostia? I want to know!"

"You wouldn't want to know," Jenro said.

Anko knew the answer, but kept her mouth shut. Xarin was the one who answered. "General Narshen of Bern led it, but your husband was there in Araphen, making sure everything goes as planned.."

"Damn him!" Kumiko yelled, slamming her fists in the table as she did. Everyone else was startled and gasped as Kumiko's tears of mixed anger and mourning poured down. She shuddered and sobbed, not knowing what to feel.

"Kumiko, please..." Mark spoke, tone clearly worried, as he got up and gathered the woman in his arms, and pulled her back to her seat. He didn't stop stroking her and she didn't stop crying when he said, "I'll hear from Ilia."

Nerisa sighed before speaking, taking in the atmosphere that the meeting was slowly taking. "Seriously, Mark. Ilia-everything to that snowy country is now under Bern. The Pegasus Knights are still putting up their best resistance, but no luck so far. Many of our Knights and Mercenaries are gone. We've never had the numbers, so that is nothing but bad news. We've given up on resistance for now, if only to stop the dwindling of our numbers. But that doesn't mean there is peace in Ilia. Homes are ruined. Coffers are ransacked. Contracts are manipulated by Bern. They guard our borders well, so we can't even sneak out to fulfill our contracts. A few do, and they must consider themselves truly lucky. Everything is just genereally... so horrible..."

Nerisa looked near to tears as well, her statements drifting off into quiet sobbing. Mark felt the pain in his heart grow as the conversations went on. Kumiko, in his arms, was also sobbing, but she was slowly starting to gather heself. "And from Etruria?" he asked, turning to Knarrd and Miguel.

"We are trying hard to remain neutral," said Miguel, "And I fear the king is oblivious to everything that's happening. He has not been the same since the death of the Royal Prince Mildain. The council controls almost every decision in Etruria of recent. Etruria will remain neutral for as long as she can."

"The citizens want nothing of the war," Knarrd elaborated, still calmly sipping his tea, as if unaffected by the tension in the room, as oblivious as Etruria herself. "Bern will have to think twice or more before she attacks Etruria-of all the nations, Etruria can be the only one to beat Bern. The Etrurians, of all nationalities, have a sense of superiority and pride in themselves and will refuse to involve themselves in this if it means keeping their illusion of peace."

Mark then said, as Kumiko finally drifted from him and dried her tears, "Well… I was in Sacae when the attack happened… and oh, you bet I was surprised when I saw those wyverns in the air and a horde of knights and cavaliers after. All I could do was run for it. And that's how I'm still alive today."

"How _very brave_, Master Mark. That truly is the thinking of a 'Famed Genius'."

And for once, tension was eased when the group found themselves giggling to Anko's words.

"Hah. Very funny," Mark raised an eyebrow, though he had just been laughing himself. "Now, I'd like to know if you can still laugh after I ask you about the situation from Bern's point of view."

"I'm just a spy," Anko said, voice nonchalant, "And I don't know specifics about the war. I do know that I've been ordered to redo my background check on every person in the castle-anyone who isn't a native of Bern is kicked out. Or if someone seems suspicious, I... just get rid of him. We don't like losing by being backstabbed, you know."

"You truly talk like one who hails from Bern," said Knarrd, "You have pride that Bern is the best country there is when it is a matter of war, right?"

When Anko just shrugged, Mark turned an expectant gaze at Kumiko, which ushered her to speak.

"I still see no proper reasons why this war has started," she said, "But I'm trying my best to find out. I fear His Highness has been hiding things to me of late. What his goals are, I don't know. I believe his generals may know, but..."

"Then ask his generals!" Nerisa suggested.

"Tried that. Didn't work," Kumiko almost instantaneously replied.

"Then seduce the king to get him to speak." Xarin suggested.

"I-I can't do that!"

"Hah!" Miguel let out a rude chuckle. "I'm sure it'd work if you do it!"

When Mark noticed the queen turn a deep red, he said, "I believe that's enough pressuring Kumiko. It's not really her job to pry-that would be the job of our spies."

"But what are we going to do?" Nerisa asked, sounding utterly concerned. "This war goes on, and as an elite group of tacticians, we have to take some sort of action as well... Father would never sit still if he were alive. He would want us to do something."

"I think we should just go on with our own jobs," Xarin said. "We still have contracts to different countries, and our guild stands by its rules of loyalty to those who pay us."

"What do you mean, Xarin?"Miguel asked. "We go our own ways?"

"Yes," she answered sharply. "I work for Lycia. I side with Lycia. You work for Etruria. Then do what Etruria commands you to. Anko works for Bern. She does what Bern Keep tells her to."

Anko let out a snort, noticing how Xarin singled her out. They have never gotten along much, and it was not just because of their opposing interests of now. "This is _the _Guild. My father's guild," Anko said. "My loyalties are to Bern and His Highness but I will not betray my father by selling anyone of you out."

_You've already sold me out, _Kumiko thought bitterly. _You've already sold me out to Zephiel for your own purposes._

"This is a grave time," said Mark. "We are well aware that Bern is the strongest force in the continent. If we don't act, the balance of the continent would be disrupted—"

"You're talking like some god," Miguel snapped, causing Mark to flinch. "Talking about the balance in the continent and all that."

Mark lost his words. He and Miguel have never been the closest friends, their personalities clashing with each other often, intimidating the other without meaning to.

"Balance is important," Jenro said. "If there's only one country, one ruler, there are no wars, no skirmishes, no business for us."

_Business!_ Kumiko thought, bitterly. _This isn't about business. It was about lives, about death, about meaningless sacrifices..._

"The beneficial thing to do would be to unite against Bern sometime or the other," Miguel suggested. "Once Etruria's help is acquired, that would be possible. His Highness to Etruria cannot ignore us forever. He will move sometime. While Sacae, Ilia, and Lycia are in ruins, they are not totally obliterated. We have to act while that time has not come."

"That would be great, and I see the sense in it, but..." Mark's words trailed off as he glanced at Anko. He never knew which way she would swing.

Anko caught his glance, and knew he was worried for her. "But you would be facing me in war, is that it? Yes, by all means, you'd be clashing with me. While I would never harm any of you personally, I can't say I would support this endeavor either. I'm Bern's Master of Spies. I am loyal to my title and my king."

An awkward silence filled the room, a silence fueled by the certainty that Anko was as stubborn as a rock—her opinion cannot be changed. And at the same time, they all knew Anko was a snake—she might as well sell them all out.

"...We're going to fight Zephiel."

Everyone stirred and turned to Kumiko, who had broken the silence with her determined statement. "We're going to fight Zephiel," she repeated, as firm as the first. "If he doesn't change his mind, we would have to fight him."

"And it's _your_ job," Anko added as gravely, "to change his mind. And if you do not succeed in that, then by all means you are welcome to fight him. …And me."

BERN CAPITAL | Some Tavern

Xarin arrived just in time to catch a cloaked man, tall but lean underneath his heavy cloaks, staring at a scantily dressed barmaid. The barmaid was all aware of this, and when she served his drink she winked at him, and he returned it.

Xarin sat a seat away from him on the bar. He turned to her, putting on the appearance of surprise as he looked at her from head to toe and then let out a low whistle, as he got up and moved to the seat next to her.

Xarin rolled her eyes and said, as if to the air, "You know, Leila would kill you if she were alive."

The man, Matthew, managed a laugh, tossing his head back, the soft tavern lights highlighting sandy brown hair into gold. "But she's not alive," Matthew said, with a grin. "And shut up and play along. You're not acting professional. This is Anko's turf and she's got spies everywhere here. Imagine if one of those spies found out that I were here…"

"You use spywork as an excuse to act inappropriate," Xarin muttered, to herself. She reached out across the counter and took the mug in front of him, drinking it straight.

Matthew made a face. "That was mine."

"You're going to kill me with the bill," she answered. They ran off from Ostia with limited resources, after all, and Matthew knew it. "And have you—"

But all of a sudden, he inched closer to her and draped an arm over her shoulder. She stiffened, and then shrugged the hand off her. Matthew smirked, but then just spoke. "Yes," he said, a low whisper. "I have everything done as you ordered, sweetheart."

She wanted to groan, and punch his face, but she held it in. "Good," she said, blandly. Matthew felt irritated, in the slightest. He has never worked with Xarin in the field, but he heard many amusing stories from other spies that Xarin literally transformed when she had to act in the name of work. And now he has to work with her, but she still has to act like the cold woman that she is. _Maybe I should give her another assignment, _Matthew thought selfishly to himself, smirking as he thought of making Xarin act as his sweet innocent sister, or a submissive girlfriend, or a flirty barmaid—_I wonder what personality Xarin put on when she seduced that scoundrel Erik only to later point a dagger to his throat? Ah. I'd like to see how she did that._

"What?" Xarin asked, when she noticed he was silent.

He snapped, and turned to her, still with that smirk. She would kill him if she found out what he had been thinking of. "Nothing, sweetheart. Just wondering if you were a good kisser." _Oh goodness, I think I sound like-what was his name?—oh, Sain. A suave Sain at least!_

Xarin stomped his shoe with the heel of her own, and he flinched, but he was laughing. When he was through laughing, though, he warily glanced behind his back. "But I think I found one," Matthew said, tone nonchalant but with an underlying hint of urgency, if such a thing was possible. He ordered another mug of ale from a barmaid, the same barmaid who winked at him earlier, who was now eyeing Xarin carefully. When the barmaid was out of earshot, Matthew whispered, "That woman by the door—the barkeep's wife?—has been staring at you since you came. She's probably a spy. I can't believe I agreed to walk into my personal definition of hell on Elibe—Anko's turf. You never know if that snake's for you or against you."

"You've worked with her once, haven't you?" Xarin asked

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Matthew looked away from her, flustered. "I don't see a reason for Ostia to have to work with Bern. How was the meeting? How's Kumiko?"

"She wants to wage all-out war on Bern. Anko is still sitting with Bern, though. Everyone else just brought along sob stories like what we have from Lycia. And Etruria remains, as we thought, ignorant. Should I tell Kumi that you're here?"

"…Typical Kumi," Matthew said, the hand around Xarin's shoulder idly dropping down to Xarin's lap, caressing the skin there that was laid bare by her short skirt. "I agree with her, though. Nothing left to do now but fight. And _don't_ tell her that I'm here. She might accidentally alert Anko about it. And we all know that she's technically my archenemy now."

Xarin gave an agreeing snort, and then glanced down at his hand lightly massaging her thigh, and she dangerously told him, "So, do you think it's time I punch you in the face and further prevent your wounds from healing well?"

The barkeep's wife started hovering around the tavern, stopping at the table behind them, making small talk with that table. Matthew clicked his tongue irritably. "Congratulate your friend for having a spy in every inn and tavern. Or, in my opinion, in every corner of Bern. Or the world. Yes, I think it's time. You know where to see me next."

And his hand started trailing upward Xarin's skirt, but immediately she grabbed his hand, stopping him, and punched him in the face, flinging him to the floor for better measure. The tavern gave a collective gasp as Matthew lay on the floor, blood coming from the sides of his mouth. Xarin left a pouch of gold to the bar counter, her payment for her drinks, and left the tavern in a bad mood.

_Oh, the pain I have to go through because of work, _Matthew sighed to himself, as he lay there on the tavern floor, pretending to be passed out. _But I'll do this. I am Ostia's Master of Spies. I'll redeem Ostia .I'll redeem you all, Lord Hector._

Later, the barkeep's wife would tell Anko's agents that Xarin merely took a drink in the bar when a man made indecent passes at her, with which she found right to attack him. Xarin was doing nothing suspicious at all.

Bern Capital | The Tactician Guild

In the end, no firm decision has been made. Mark called the meeting done at the conclusion that they had to wait things out for a while and see what would happen.

The evening was already deep and dark, though none of that can be felt in the underground Tactician Guild. There was, as usual, a dimness about their Guild as it was underground, but Anko (or, was it Heath?) finally installed magical lighting material from the Magic Shop. Said lighting flickered as Kumiko passed by the hall to her old room, the magic spirits in their contained bulbs probably dancing or flittering about, Kumiko thought.

She walked by the boy's room—the room that Miguel, Knarrd, Jenro, and Mark used to share—and stopped when voices from inside startled her.

"You should hear him! You should hear him, trying so hard to be some knight in shining armor, about to whisk her away from her awful marriage!

Kumiko paused, suddenly curious about this conversation. It was Miguel who spoke, and Kumiko could not believe it—fancy words like _whisk _and _knight in shining armor_ were rarely a part of his vocabulary. And who was the person in question? Who was trying to be a knight?

"Oh, goodness' sake Miguel, get over it—why don't you try falling in love? You might become as stupid." It was Nerisa who spoke now.

"Love? There's a right place for such a thing. Not in the middle of war! When it is war, it is all but logic. We have to do the right thing that would get us to victory. Mark knows what to do. But he delays it for Kumiko's sake! I swear! He sides on her _all_ the time! He would try not to make things hard for her. He even did her laundry way back when we were younger!"

Kumiko gasped in disbelief—it was about her! And Mark! Is this how their friends—no, their _colleagues_, simply put, for they were no longer friends!—thought about them? Mark is a wonderful leader—is that just how they viewed them? _Do they disrespect him—because of me?_

Kumiko turned around and walk away, not wanting to hear any more of it.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Mark."

The male tactician looked up from the book he was reading when Kumiko called him. He would never admit it, but he knew every possible tone and tune of that voice, even in his sleep. Kumiko. His childhood friend. The one he tried his best to protect for the most part of his life. No—for all his life. For he knew that even now, he was still thinking of Kumiko's welfare, still trying to put her first. And she was standing there before him, brown-blonde hair still damp, white velvet dress making her look like the snow goddess of Regrada herself.

_A goddess who already belongs to a god, unfortunately, and I be a mere mortal._

He made some space on the couch for her to sit, but then she proceeded to recline on the couch and rest her head on his lap.

It was what she would do, so many years ago when they were young, every time something troubled her. She came to him like this every time she wanted someone to listen and give her good advice—when she needed an older brother, perhaps.

_No more than an older brother._

"…I'm sorry, Mark," she said. "I know my position in the country makes everything so much more hard for the guild…"

"No, it doesn't," he quickly said—he lied. He was staring down into her face, the face of an angel, and he couldn't resist tucking some stray hair on her face behind her ears. And then he said, with a sigh. "We're just being careful. Better to act when you already know everything that's at stake. Rash decisions are unwise."

"No," she shook her head, and her blue eyes showed some form of anger at Mark. She knew he was lying. "If I weren't queen, our action would be clear—we would all unite against Bern, wouldn't we? And you and I both know what is needed in this situation—a quick, firm decision. Slow judgment might mean disaster. This war might become more large scale than it already is-"

He sighed, and dropped the book he was reading to his side. She was right. He knew she was right. "But it's not just you," he said, recalling something. "...We have Anko to consider, too." And then he whispered, "She's an angel at best, and a snake at worst. Who knows when she'll sell us out to Bern?"

"Not Anko," she said. "This is her guild. We all grew up together. She would never betray us. But she is most loyal to Bern. She is most loyal to the king. She will not put us in harm's way, but she would not risk being in his disfavor, either. And though I hate it, I can't do anything against him as well. He's my husband."

The last statement was such a fact that it hurt, and he wished she didn't have to say it. And so there was silence.

She snuggled into his green robes. He sighed in frustration, though he knew her proximity made him feel good. How long has it been since the friend was that close to him? How long has it been since she last sat with him like so? So much time has passed. So many things have happened.

_She married. And she married a king._

In a short while, the gravity of the situation began to dawn on him. Should Anko see this scene and report it to the king, he knew he was as good as dead. He knew what kind of man the king of Bern was. How he held onto the things he set his eyes on.

_But I'll never get to hold her this way again. _He pushed the thoughts of the king to the corners of his mind, and he began to stroke the woman's hair in a comforting way. "Don't blame yourself, Kumi," he told her. "I'll try to think of something..."

"It _is_ my fault," she stubbornly said. "I know _I _am the one making things hard for us now. Do me a favor, Mark, and forget my station as queen, forget my husband, and just do the right thing. You know we must act against Bern."

"That will leave you in an uncomfortable position," Mark said. "If we are actively fighting Bern while you are one of its monarchs—"

"Then I can gather information for you. Then I can help you from inside."

Mark's face turned into a frown. "You're not capable of that treachery, Kumiko. And I'd like to be cautious and think that if anyone ever sensed that you will do that—like Anko or His Majesty himself—you would be in danger and be put in harm. I would rather watch and see how things progress in a while. Etruria is yet to act."

Kumiko sighed. _Miguel was right. You favor me too much. I am the cause of all this. You place too much value on me, Mark._

"You know," she lightly tugged on his robes, her eyes on his, but looking distant, as if thinking of things far-off and gone. "...I always wonder what could've happened if... if we didn't get separated. That time, in the mountain borders of Bern and Sacae... bandits chased us and you went on your own to distract them. I found myself on the Sacae plains, and I met Lady Lyn and worked for her... Eventually I met Lord Hector and Lord Eliwood and I worked for them as well... And along the journey I met His Highness, Zephiel... Mark, what if you were the one that met Lyn? If that was what happened, then I wouldn't have met Zephiel, then I wouldn't have to be queen..."

He shook his head at her. "Now, what is this about? Are you regretting your husband? That's not an honorable thing for a wife to be doing..."

"Yes, Mark. I do regret the man. I wish I never met him back then so I'd never have to be in this terrible fate, tied to him. If only I could-!"

As much good it should be for Mark to hear those words, they did not, and it only stung him, and stopped her from saying more by placing a finger on her lip. "Shush, Kumiko. We can't change the past now, can we?" _No matter how much I want to, we can't. I don't want to get my hopes up. _"You are queen. You have to face it. You may not notice it, but you have the power to change things. Do what you think is right for your country."

She said nothing. Mark used to be so protective, almost bordering on obsessed. He used to give in to her every request and whim, and take her side at all times. He was like a brother to her. She wished he would treat her like a child again, but that was not the case anymore.

"You may just be one woman," he said, trying to be comforting, "but for all I know, you can change the history of the continent."

"...Thank you, Mark." She only said it because she did not know what else to say. She looked up to him with a smile, albeit almost forced.

He smiled back. And for a moment Mark forgot to guard his words, and then, the words spilt out:

"I wonder, too... If you had become _my_ queen instead...?"

"...What?" Kumiko, surprised, got up from his lap, and seemed bothered.

_Ah, Kumiko. Always so innocent about love. Innocent to a point of dense, I dare say. I have always loved you. Too late now, though._

All he did was smile, as he got up, held her hand and gave it a light kiss, and he trailed off to his room after giving her a mock bow.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Later, Kumiko was still seated on the receiving room couch, thoughts seeming to be distant. That was when Anko sat at the chair across her, snapping her to her senses.

"Oh, Anko," Kumiko greeted, almost a whisper.

"No plans to go back to Bern Keep?" Anko asked.

All Kumiko's answer was to shake her head.

Anko clicked her tongue. "Not a wise course of action. I can, undoubtedly, give you a place to stay for the night—this is always home for you, too, you know, but... Wouldn't Zephiel get mad at you for this?"

"I don't care if he gets mad. I'm also mad at him, so he's getting what he asked for."

"You're lucky he favors you so, but it won't last forever, you know."

"If he keeps me, it's not because he favors me, it's because he wants me as some sort of prisoner."

Anko made some sort of perturbed face. "You have such a bleak view of marriage. I'm sure Zephiel favors you for some other reason. You're still attractive, in case you haven't noticed."

"No, I haven't noticed, and that's not true," said Kumiko. How would she notice, surrounded by beautiful people as well? Growing up, Anko, Xarin, and Nerisa were attractive as well. And she has mingled with nobles, princesses and queens—what was her beauty in comparison?

But, oh, has she not more that once looked in the huge mirrors in her changing room in Bern Keep, after trying on gown after gown, and delighted at how beautifully she looked in them. And had she not blushed and indulged in the praises of many a man of the court, for her sapphire eyes, brown-blonde hair, sun-kissed skin? She knew she was attractive—it ran in her blood, the blood of the nobles of Regrada—but thinking back it had probably done her more bad than good, to be beautiful that she attracted, a way or another, without her knowing, the king of Bern.

"So, what will you do?"

Kumiko snapped from her thoughts and looked up at Anko. "About what?"

"About Mark," Anko said, much to Kumiko's surprise.

"I have no issue with Mark. We get along fine, as usual."

"Not in that sense," said Anko. "He… likes you, you know."

"Of course Mark does," Kumiko nervously said, as if to brush off the question. "He's my childhood friend, like yours."

"No, Kumiko, not 'like' in that sense. 'Like' in a way that 'I-wish-she-were-my-wife-instead'."

Kumiko has just confirmed that, from the words that came from Mark moments ago. Sure, it could have been a joke, but... All jokes are half-meant, right?

Kumiko just shook her head. "I can only love Mark like a brother. He always spoiled me. Right from the beginning. When I needed someone to take my side I turned to Mark. When I needed someone to fight for me. I figure it's not him I want, but his constant taking of my side."

"_Ouch_," Anko said. "You're not as dense as people think, Kumi. You _do _notice. Sometimes, you do."

Kumiko nodded slightly to herself. "Yes. Sometimes I do. I just fail to conclude unless I feel that there is solid evidence."

"Then what about His Highness? You _do _notice he favors you more than ordinary? I dare say, he may love you."

"Now _that_ is impossible!" Kumiko told Anko. "He favors me, yes. Fancies me, yes. But in a way a child is fascinated with a favorite toy. If he loved me, he would listen. If he loved me, then he would have never, out of nowhere, asked me to marry him two years ago. That was too abrupt. He barely knew me. He cannot love me. Love takes time."

"It's been two years already," Anko pointed out. "Maybe he has fallen in-love with you during those two years? If he treated you like, as you said, some fancied toy, he should be sick of you by now and seeking another toy. But no he is not."

"Zephiel doesn't like women. Even the pretty, young things in court fail to get his attention."

_I know, _Anko thought, _I know. Because he is a single-minded man who knows what he wants and will only have that. He chose you. So it will always be you. And Zephiel will always be careful. Women are distractions, and he knows that. Women bring ruin, and he knows that. And you are the only distraction he has allowed to enter his life. _

The conversation was cut short when the guild door suddenly burst open. Heath-in his full armor, panting heavily, and soaking wet from the rain outside—emerged from the door. The two women turned to him, surprised. Anko almost spoke, but Heath declared, "The king has returned!"

Kumiko visibly gasped. "And Kumiko," Heath said, "Please return to the castle, or else the king will probably have my head! He's furious!"

"Looks like he's missing his favorite toy," Anko remarked, but by all means her tone was serious, not a drip of sarcasm in it. "Go amuse him, Kumiko. We cannot risk the king getting angry at any one of us. Most especially _you. _Be kind to him. Be kind to him _for once_."

But Anko's advice would be left unheeded.

**End of Chapter.**

A/N: Told you it'll be up real soon. XD If there were too many scenes with OCs to your liking, I apologize. Err, but then again, that's what I'm known for. My readers from Journey are familiar with these OCs anyway.

…Anko and Heath? I'm trying to work out if this is a pairing in my head, but it's all fogged up to me. I don't see it as clearly as I see Xarin and Matt. Anyway, the two have yet to truly personally interact in this fic, so I'm not sure at all.

Gaaahhh… I managed to squeeze in Matt there didn't I? I SHOULD STOP. SOMEBODY STOP ME.

Hmmm.,. Countdown to until we finally get to see the Etrurian politics… in three chapters? No, two? No, in the next chapter? I cannot offer anything concrete yet until the events in Bern Keep are concluded. When the Bern Keep segment is done, I can rightfully focus on that. Just like in FE7, you are only introduced to the politics of the continent in general in a narration that happens only after you finish Lyn's tale and start on Eliwood's/Hector's. XD

Review please, your opinions are what keep the chapters coming. Even constant pestering for the Journey might get me to get some writing on that done. XDD

PS: Or maybe prayers and wishes would work. My bf (or ex-bf, whatever) has just called up quite a while ago but based on what he said, I'm feeling hopeful. He said he'll call again this May, and I do hope that he does. Writing is hard without your muse. Haha! I'm hopeful but if it doesn't happen, I'll have to learn to deal with it, but I'm just happy enough for now that he remembered. Gotta learn to be content with what you're given. If it doesn't go as you want, there's always going to be something good to make out of it, in the end. But I sure do hope he calls!

PPS: At 8000 words, this is my longest chapter for Bern. My chapters for Journey comes to 50,000 words, just a piece of trivia. I can pretty much come up with 8000 easily, but 50000? Takes a while!


	7. Confrontation

CHAPTER FIVE | Confrontation

_The Lady Kumiko will hardly be in danger. I dare say the king dotes on her in such a loving fashion and is even quite possessive of her. She is blind and does not see this. Nor does she ever see that when our talks turn to her, the king takes on a slightly softer tone and such a smile. He has delighted in her much, and that makes me believe he will not turn her away or harm her. Only she can make her own undoing. She is absolutely intent on leaving that I dare say she is blind to her potential power in the Keep. I will relay what influence I can to make her realize this. Her sensibilities, I hear, are getting the better of her._

A coded response to the received letter was quickly penned by a left-handed man:

_That is typical of Her Majesty, if I must say. She has been that way for as long as I can remember. The only person getting in the way of her ability to stop the war in the easiest way possible is, I dare say, herself as well. I've known her to be incapable of treachery or disloyalty of any sort—she will do the nobler thing, even if it is longer. And we both know that fighting opposite her husband in war is seen as a greater good by most people rather than quietly maneuvering in the Keep to place him between her fingers, or if worse comes to worst, quietly just slipping some poison into his drink, which she is capable of doing. It is the highest treachery, but I think both means just lead to the same end—the death of His Majesty and ultimately the end to this war. Kumiko is not aware of the easy way to do it. It would frustrate her if I be the one to suggest it to her, but we shall continue to strive to retain her in the Keep until, hopefully, she realizes her power on her own._

BERN KEEP

"Pack your things," Jaffar quietly prodded Nino upon his return to their chambers in the Keep. "And I don't want to hear about taking any of those gowns, Nino. Take your essentials—some gold, some jewelry, and your magic tomes…"

Nino had been sitting in front of her desk, quill in her hand as she wrote for spells in a tome. She turned to him and blinked plaintively, puzzled by his sudden demands. "…Jaffar?"

"Nino, _do it._"

"Well, I demand an explanation!" Nino said, getting up and looking straight at her husband with a pout. "You've left without saying where you were going to a while ago, and now you tell me to pack my things…"

"I escorted Kumiko to leave the Keep to their guild a while ago. She seems to desire to stay there more than returning here for the meantime," Jaffar explained quickly. "While I object little to that—she can do what she wants—this puts us in the most awful position should His Majesty return to see she is not here and we are. We will be the receiving end to his temper. This is why I tell you to prepare. If we begin to sense that his return is imminent..."

Nino nodded, realizing Jaffar's point. She quickly took out her packing bags and scoured her shelves for her magic tomes—taking one of each spell. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Oh, this is such an awful situation we are in, Jaffar. Doesn't Kumi notice this? She'll protect us if she can, but there is no telling when the king's temper will boil over."

"I believe she is preoccupied thinking of what to do in this war. I've yet to give her my honest counsel. She is blind in her current frustration…"

"She'll snap out of it eventually, of course," Nino remarked, as she took her hidden stash of gold from underneath their beddings and threw it into her bag. "If she does not, well, it's a good time for us to go on our own and, you know… look for _them_…"

_Them. _"Yes," Jaffar nodded. "That would be a good plan of action. For now, I'm going to check some more of our things, Nino. I need to see if I can figure out information as well about the king's return."

Nino nodded to her husband, and Jaffar returned it, as he turned around to walk out of their chambers to, as he said, find more information about the king. But before he could leave, their door opened, and guards of Bern Keep entered.

"Sir Jaffar, Lady Nino. I'm afraid you are to not leave your chambers as order of His Majesty, and we are to see that it is so."

_Too late. He has already returned._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_He peered into the dungeon cells, careful not to seem suspicious, since he was, after all, a knight of Bern. He was not to be concerned about the dungeons, or any prisoners that they may hold in. But he was._

_Thankfully the Araphen Dungeons were pretty empty—a minimal of guards were assigned there, both of whom he knew personally. He had no trouble entering the dungeons because of that, and if he was discreet enough, he was going to escape danger._

_He stilled when I heard heavy, labored breathing. That must be it. He peered into the next dungeon cell and saw a man with thick blue hair and beard, in all his armor, sitting on the damp, bloodied dungeon floor._

_Lord Hector._

_The said lord was supposed to be younger than the knight, but in his current state, the Ostian Lord seemed so much older. Didn't anyone tell him to shave off that beard or trim that hair neatly? Ah, but then again, he was Lord Hector, unconscious of his appearances._

"…_What are you staring at?" the Ostian lord breathed out, snapping the knight from his thoughts. Even in his weakness, Lord Hector still managed to make his statement sound threatening._

"_Lord Hector," said the knight, "it's me." And he took off his riding helm to reveal his face to the Ostian lord. Hector had difficulty seeing in the dark, but he managed to make out the knight's dark green hair and the undeniable streak of white in it. _

_Faces and memories flashed back to the lord's mind, and then he finally said, "Heath… what are you doing here?"_

"_Long story, my lord," he said, kneeling towards the cell, holding onto the bars that separated him from the lord. "I was reinstated as a knight of Bern, but I did not know that this was what was going to happen. My apologies, Lord Hector…"_

"_I don't… blame you," Hector said, in between his labored breathing. "…How were we supposed to know?"_

_Heath regarded the lord for a second, and drew into his pack for his rations and pushed them into the cell. "My lord, please take these. You need to eat and drink. If I would be staying here for much longer, I'll find a way to get you out of here. Just hang on, Lord Hector. Just—"_

"_Heath!" a soldier called from the end of the dungeon hallway, holding a torch and peering into the darkness to look for the wyvern knight. "You're being called! It's time for assembly! You're unit's gonna leave you, man!"_

_Leave? So soon? Heath did not expect it at all. He started to panic, not knowing what to do—how was he going to help Lord Hector, then? He thought he might help the lord escape and find a healer to deal with his wounds, but… "Wait a second!" Heath called out to the soldier, trying to buy himself some time. "I dropped something, let me just find it!"_

_And then he felt into his pack for the small lockpick that he swore was in there, and when he got it, he started working on the locks of the cell door. The light was sparse and he could barely see a thing—and he knew too little of this, "I should have listened to Anko better", it would take him long to get this one lock open. Hector looked up to see what the knight was doing, and said, "Heath, what are you doing?"_

"_Opening your cell for you, my lord!" Heath replied, panicked. "But I don't have much time—"_

"_Fool! Don't do it! You'll get in trouble with your own country—again!" said Lord Hector. He began coughing violently, prodding Heath to finish up his task of picking the locks much more quickly. "I don't have… I don't have much time," said Hector. "…I'm going to die anyway. Don't waste your time. Don't risk yourself. It was good enough to see an old friend…"_

"_Heath? Where are you, man? We're leaving!" another soldier called out—and this time Heath was more familiar with the voice. It was the captain of his unit calling to him now._

"_I'll be there, sir!" Heath called out, just as he threw down his lockpick and stopped at the locks. He turned to Lord Hector one final time, and said, "My lord, this is all I can do for you, my apologies. But don't give up just yet. We might meet again."_

_Heath walked away, and Hector was left, not knowing what to make of the meeting. He knew his time was short, his strength was gone. There were so many questions now, and he needed to make out what answers he could get from the events. That was all he could do now—think. His gaze then fell to the wrapped rations and the vulnerary that Heath had left for him, and he reached out for it. The cell lock was already open, but Hector barely noticed, and barely had the strength to get up and leave._

"Heath?"

The wyvern knight stirred as he felt Kumiko grip tighter around his stomach, an action to call on his attention. He blinked, feeling as if he just awoke from a daydream, and he focused on his surroundings again, at the skies of Bern in the evening and the path to Bern Keep. The winds were cold and wet with rain, the water misting his and her—and Hyperion's—bodies.

"Yes, Kumiko?" he asked.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You were so quiet…"

"…I was just deep in thought, Kumi. So many things happened in Ostia. It was too much to take."

"Will you tell me?"

" I'll tell you later," Heath said. "You'll have enough to tie your hands now, Kumiko. I'll tell you later."

BERN KEEP | The King's Audience Room

The guards were pulling her to the throne room as if she were a criminal—they didn't drag her like they did with criminals, but they held her arms with a grip that was determined to bring her to the throne room. And so strong was their determination. She knew they could have been more considerate, as she was queen, but they only became like this because she fought them, screamed at them, kicked them, scratched them with her nails, and pulled on their hair, as if they were going to bring her to her death.

She was finally released when she was pushed into the throne room by the men that were holding her. She gave them a furious look before turning her head to the room—where the king was on his throne of sleek old wood, looking as if he had been waiting for her.

And he then asked the inevitable question.

"Where have you been?"

She gave him the same glare she gave the guards, and said, "My affairs are mine. I don't see the need to tell you. And shouldn't I be asking you that? Where have _you _been, Zephiel?"

He returned her glare, and she noticed one of his eyebrows twitch up ever so slightly. He was not in the best of moods for confrontation, that was apparent.

She was in no mood for it, either. She tried for a way out. "Look at me!" she said as she raised her arms as to display her white cloak that was soaked from the rain outside. Her hair and her entire being were wet of the rain as well, and the drips of water from her clothes made the vibrant red of the carpet on the floor change its color to a deep wine red. "I look ridiculous," she said. "Surely there's a better time for this? I beg you, my king. Can we just discuss this issue in our chambers at a later time? I beg your leave, my king. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

She turned to leave, but his voice interrupted. "I see you are trying to run away. But you may not. I ask you. Answer me _now_."

She took off her coat in one brisk motion that caused more water to splatter onto the carpet, and then threw it behind her back. A servant who was quick on his toes immediately lunged after it and caught it.

"I deserve more discretion than this," she said.

"You only deserve all that I think you do."

She rolled her eyes, and then put a hand to her hip, and looked at him again. "Whatever is so important with where I went off to, anyway?"

Her eyes were filled with her annoyance as they trailed off to the windows and her were eyebrows slightly raised. She looked as if the most ridiculous thing in the world was happening to her—and she thought that it was.

"You know," he began, in a tone slightly more relaxed, "that I am very fond of you."

She knew.

"But," he said, and she knew he would say it, "I also know that I don't exactly have your loyalty. In fact, you are the most likely person that I would expect to betray me."

"…Are you _accusing me_, Zephiel?"

She did not scream, but the hurt in her voice was very clear, even the king himself was taken aback. How could she have made it sound as if he just told her the most hurtful words she has ever heard? There was a truth to Zephiel's accusation, she knew—she went to the Tactician Guild to meet with her colleagues and plan a way to end the war after all, and didn't she just stubbornly declare there that they had to fight Zephiel? So how could his accusations hurt her?

He took a breath, and said, more softly, "My apologies. …I was simply worried for you. I had no idea where you were."

_Worried! What a brilliant lie, Zephiel. I doubt you would be worried about me._ "Worried?" she said with a stifled chuckle. "My, my, Zephiel... You _know_ how to worry? For me?"

His only answer was, "Well, Guinevere is missing."

"I wouldn't wonder," she said. "I doubt she has been abducted or anything of that sort. I believe it is her choice to leave you—and who wouldn't? I would do the same thing, given the chance."

Angered by her words, he finally stood from his throne, and walked down the steps and said, his voice clearly irate, "Just what is wrong with you? What wrong did I do again this time that is making you act like an incomprehensible-"

"You know full well what's going on now that I dislike," she snapped at him. "And unless this war stops, I am not going to manner myself the way you want me to!"

She was brave, thought the small crowd of attendants and guards in the room. They may not have thought of her much as a queen, but if there was one thing they could merit her for now—it was bravery. Even the most valiant hero could never stand just the king's anger—it was like staring death in the eye itself. But she could handle it, and let alone have the guts to argue with him. They all knew he could throw her out of the castle with a single word—but anyone who can hold her own against the king of Bern was someone to fear as well, that part everyone knew.

And she certainly could hold an argument with him. If she could not, she should have been dethroned or dead sometime two years ago.

"Just _who _do you think you are to make these demands of me?" he said, his tone rising dangerously. "You forget who you are talking to, woman!

"_You killed my best friend_!"

The crowd of attendants and guards stirred, wishing they were anywhere but there at the moment. She truly was brave—or highly foolish. Who would launch such an accusation to the king, no matter if it was true or not? Who would dare him?

The king's eyes widened in surprise of her declaration, but then he just raised an eyebrow, and asked, "Just what are you talking about?"

"_Lady Lyn of Ostia_! She's _dead_! And it's _your_ entire fault! It's because of this stupid, insolent, accursed war!"

He was taken aback by her outburst, but he knew full well what she meant. He stood still and watched her in her rage. Rage—that was the only way to describe that flame in her eyes, the way she looked at him with such intense… _hatred_. And yet she was shivering in fear. And yet her eyes were teary in mixed anger and sadness. "So is this why you went off today again, Zephiel? Have you killed another of my friends again? Murderer! You are no king, you are a _murderer!_"

Everyone was shocked by her bold statements—even Zephiel himself. If she were not queen, she would be quickly hanged to death for her words alone. And even if she were queen, her actions deserved punishment.

He stared down at her, looking offended and angry, and she tensed, recalling the words that just ran out of her mouth. She did not regret saying them—there was no point in regret—but she wondered if there could have been a subtler way to say it. She almost waited for his judgment—for him to order her killed or to be banished.

But then he shook his head, putting a hand to cover his face, and he could be heard laughing to himself.

He walked towards her, a smirk present on his face. She shuddered. For some reason, she thought that being executed or being banished would be a thousand times better than what was to come.

He stopped when he was in front of her, and said, almost casually, "Well, look who's talking."

She gave him a puzzled look.

"_If_ I'm a murderer, I wonder what that would make _you_, Strategy Queen," he spoke as if he was teasing her. "I must wonder how many people you've killed with your tactics! Your hands would never have to be stained… but how many times in your life have you pointed your finger at a man so that one of the fighters in your group would kill him?" He saw her shudder at the image he suggested—because she knew she had done that. "How many members of Black Fang have you had slain in that little campaign we all heard about more than a decade ago? I _remember_ you and your group _killed_ a lot of people who were attempting to assassinate me at one point in time, long ago. So _how funny_ you declare that I'm a murderer! You are just like me! You've given orders to kill people before I have!" She was frozen in place now, face pale and aghast. "_Tactician? Strategist? _Hah! Your kind hides behind these words, declaring figuring out how to kill people and win battles as a profession. You live and earn money playing these little games, using people like they are chess pieces and victory is only brought about by killing the enemies! _That_ is how you think, right? That is the mentality of your profession! That is—"

The sound of a crisp slap filled the room.

She slapped him, her face blank and dumbfounded. Her hand rose by itself to hit him earlier, as if it had a mind of its own. She stared at him, her eyes glossy with be tears. Oddly, he found that her eyes didn't burn with hatred now, but rather a form of disappointment.

He put a hand to his reddened check. Untouched by her emotions, he continued, "And you slap me for talking the truth. Tell me, Kumiko. Was I not speaking the truth?"

And her tears began to flow. Because in a way, yes, he was talking the truth.

She never, ever, ever wanted her being a tactician to be seem as an excuse for murder. She never treated tactics like a game. And she never liked the violence. She never liked it, and while she has gotten accustomed to death, she has never been clear of conscience for everything she has done. How many times, in her youth, had she woken up screaming, seeing dead men's faces and bodies all bloodied and cut up? And how many people have cried out, 'Murderer!" to her? She was a hero to many. But to a few, she was a harbinger of death all the same.

She cried silently now, never taking her eyes away from him. He stared at them, and found them asking things such as 'how could you say that to me?'. But he was unmoved.

She rubbed her eyes, and finally said, after what seemed like a while. "At least I didn't kill my father with my own hands to get the throne." It was a low, angry whisper, but he heard it very clearly.

His eyes widened in surprise and in offense—he didn't expect her to throw _that_ back at him. "Try saying that again, woman—"

"_At least I didn't kill my own father to get the throne_!" she yelled, startling everyone around her.

He stood in shock at her audacity to speak of that—in front of the castle guards and his attendants, of all people. He grabbed her brusquely on the shoulder, pushing her back, shaking her violently—"He tried to kill me first!" he said in his defense. "And I _did not _kill him!"

"_You killed him_! With your sword, as you rose from your pretended slumber, and—"

"Shut up, woman!"

She gasped and was still not because of the fact that he raised his voice, rather, that he raised his hand up to the air as if to hit her. And he surely was, but at the last moment, Zephiel withdrew his hand, and irately turned around, purple cloak swaying behind him as he walked a few paces from Kumiko. It was almost as if he were trying to distance himself from her in an effort to stop himself from hitting her.

Everyone—Zephiel included—reveled in that small silence, thinking Kumiko would stop once she saw how Zephiel seemed considerate enough to control himself from hurting her. But she was stubborn. She opened her mouth again, and everything started again. And it was worse.

"…Were you going to hit me, Zephiel?" she asked, lips curled up into a smirk as she spoke. The tone by which she spoke sounded so light and sweet, but he knew it was barbed and it meant ill all the same.

"Does it matter?" he replied, sounding tired. _Whatever I do, you are only going to find something wrong with it._

"You thought I didn't know, did you? You thought I never heard about you, and that well-played funeral, where you lay there, in your coffin, holding your ceremonial sword, peacefully pretending to be dead… And the moment you rose and struck your father when he came close enough…"

Zephiel was starting to fume, continuing to move farther from her, as if wanting to block out her words, to stop his mind from bringing back the memory that Kumiko was retelling. _She is my curse. She is my torture. Why did I even marry?_

Her tone became bolder and bolder, her voice louder and louder, as she went on with her story. "…You struck him dead then and there, with your little sister Guinevere wailing in the background, not understanding anything at all! Witnesses were forced to be silent—anyone who talked ill about the event was never heard of again. Do you think I'm blind to _not_ know about that? And do you think people follow you just because you are good enough? Well, Zephiel, you are damn good at being king, but on that day you became a monster, a horrible, killing monster gripped by revenge and—"

"Shut up!" he finally cut in, turning back to her, retracing his steps back towards her, letting his anger control him now. "You do not _know_ what happened. You will _never_ understand what happened and why it had to be done. You have never felt my pain, and you have never tried to understand it at all! You ungrateful, annoying—"

"Dethrone me!" Kumiko suddenly yelled, so loudly that Zephiel and everyone else flinched. She was yelling and angry, but tears were on her face as well. "If you hate me so much, take this goddamn crown"—and she reached up to her head for the bejeweled royal circlet that was in her hair, and tossed it aside, the item clanging against the floor—"take this damn crown off me and forget about me being your wife! I don't want any of this anymore, Zephiel! Just let me go so we can stop getting in each other's way!"

He looked absolutely stunned at her words, and she just sighed and turned to walk away, relieved to be able to get her desire through. If he wasn't going to stop the war for her, then he might as well just dethrone her and let her walk away. But before she could take a step out, Zephiel reached out and grabbed her by her wrist.

She turned to face him, and she found him looking at her, straight into her eyes. "I never let something I wanted so badly ever just walk out on me."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

For some odd reason, Kumiko stilled, and felt something… odd, about that declaration of Zephiel. It took her a second or two that she actually felt flustered at the implication that once, he had wanted her so badly, and maybe—just maybe—wants her still, which was why he did not want her to let go. Kumiko felt guilty with conceit as she felt her stand soften at the idea that, no matter how determined she was to let go, her husband was still chasing after her and telling her not to.

"Do you want to know _why_ I married you?" he asked.

She only nodded slowly. Did he actually care for her,as Anko and others have suggested?

But that was not what she was going to hear.

"Because I didn't want a skilled tactician like you going against my plans and possibly ruining them. You were a threat, you know, especially if you sided with Etruria or Lycia. And I didn't want that happening. So I tried to prevent that by making you mine, and you actually fell for it! You actually believed that I gave a damn about you! I only cared that you weren't in the way of my plans! So don't you dare think you can just walk away that easily! I will _never_ let you! You are _my wife_! You are my _property! _If you refuse to submit to me, woman, than I am going to have to _force you_ into submission until you realize your _place_!"

Another slap made its way to his cheek. He looked down at her, stunned once again. He felt the sting of her hand on his cheek, and this time, it really hurt. Much more than the first one, much more than he thought she was capable of.

He held his cheek, which was burning and stinging from her slap, and he threatened, "_Just try doing that again_..."

Annoyed, her hand rose again to slap him, but it didn't make its way to his skin. He quickly grabbed her wrist, and he held her arm up high over his head which made her rise on her toes. He held her with such a force and grip that she swore he was going to impair the wrist of her writing hand, in which she thought she would never be able to write again. She saw his fist rise to hit her, and in fear, she closed her eyes.

But he stopped midway. Again he stopped midway. With a groan, he let go of her, and she fell back on her feet, puzzled of why he restrained himself, but still angry the same.

"Get her out of my sight," he said, an order to the guards standing by the door.

The guards, who long wished that they weren't there to witness the whole scene between the king and queen, jolted to action and took the queen by her arms. She protested and struggled to the best she could, and she screamed.

"I hate you!" she yelled at him. "Marrying you is my biggest regret! I _hate_ you!"

"Take her to her chambers," he ordered coolly.

She protested and struggled from the men holding her with strength they never knew she had. "_I hate you!_ I swear I am going to kill you with my two hands!"

A guard found it right to give a blow to her stomach, and a strong one, which caused her to faint almost instantly. And with that they took the woman away.

When she was gone, the king found himself caressing his cheek, still red from her slap, and he whispered, "Really, that woman. She's more trouble than she's worth."

But then he looked down at the royal circlet that she had left on the floor, its rubies blinking in the light. _Dethrone me,_ her voice had said. _I hate you. Marrying you is my biggest regret._

LYCIA | Castle Araphen

Hector stirs as he hears footsteps walking into the damp dungeons, and torchlights drawing near. He did not expect for anyone to come so soon. He had not expected help at all.

The lights had stopped drawing closer, and finally, there he was—Roy, son of his good friend Eliwood of Pherae. The Ostian lord took all his strength to just look up at the boy, and he managed a small smile at the sight of Roy—for a second there, he thought he was looking at Eliwood in their youth. He took on the same red hair as his father and the same kind countenance.

"Lord Hector!" Roy entered his dungeon cell and immediately rushed to his side. He looked over the Ostian lord and quickly noticed his wounds, the blood pooling around him, and the blood on his body and face—which was, sadly, a little dry now. "What an awful wounds... We must treat it! Here, lean on my shoulder..."

His voice gave nothing away though he knew Lord Hector was more than worse. _Ah, you're just like your father. Never one to sound discouraging._ "It's all right," Hector said. "...I won't last much longer..."

"Lord Hector..." Roy began, voice sounding like an appeal, as he tried to pull the lord up and get him to walk.

But Hector did not budge—he had neither strength nor will to do so. "I was… taken by surprise...I never would have guessed that Bern had resurrected the Dragons..."

For a second Roy thought Hector was kidding, or he has slipped into a delirious state. "_Dragons_!"

Hector nods weakly. "Yes, Roy. Dragons… which we humans have already fought in the past…"

"But how can that be possible, Lord Hector? _Dragons?"_

Hector almost came up with an answer, but then he started coughing violently, blood coming out with his coughs. There was no time to explain. No time at all. "Roy," Hector said, voice and breathing already raspy, "...go to Ostia...! ...You must...lead what is left of the Lycia Alliance Army...instead of me... Lilina...please take care of her too..."

"Lord Hector…"

"...Lilina... Lyndis… I would have loved to see you both… one...more...time..."

And the Lord of Ostia stops breathing and falls dead and limp into Roy's arms.

BERN KEEP | Military Base

Zephiel had been staring at the report from Araphen for much longer than he would have. The report, concise in nature, brought good and bad news: _Castle Araphen has been retaken by Lycia. However, Lord Hector is dead._

Retaken? Zephiel thought. By who? What force in Lycia is still capable of fighting? And for a second he thought, Lord Hector is dead. Good—who would be more capable of leading the Lycia Alliance Army apart from him? Anyone else would be less that him, his death was definitely a blow to Lycia.

Lord Hector is dead. One more thing my wife could scream to my face and blame me for.

"Pardon me, my lord, may I speak of something?"

Zephiel blinked and snapped from his daze, again returning his focus to the battle map in front of him instead of the note, and then to the man who just spoke—one of his generals, and his closest advisor, General Murdock. "Yes, Murdock? You were saying? Forgive me, I lost my concentration a few moments ago."

"So it seems, Your Highness. But please do not worry. As I was saying, I was asking for your leave to speak about something…"

"Well then, you may speak," said Zephiel, though in truth, Murdock hardly needed the permission. Not only was the ridiculously tall and giant-like General Murdock the most influential and powerful General amongst his two other peers, he was also King Zephiel's guardian since he had been a small boy. In truth, he was more of Zephiel's father than the king's blood father ever was. Everyone in Bern Keep was well aware that General Murdock was the only man that King Zephiel looked up to in high regard. His voice and his opinions were always considered by the king and by every nobleman of Bern.

"I have heard," Murdock said, "about your recent argument with the Lady Kumiko…"

Zephiel groaned. He had thought Murdock was about to speak of some military affair, like the nomads of Sacae throwing an all-out resistance force against their Bernese occupants. That would have been better news, thought Zephiel, than anything that was about his wife. "Murdock, it's not an issue of any concern. I refuse to pay any attention to that woman for the time being."

"It seems to me that you are only hurting each other with your words and a reconciliation would be beneficial to both of you."

"Murdock, please!" said Zephiel, exasperated. "You should have heard her! She was talking without any respect for me at all and she was demanding that I dethrone her!"

Zephiel shook his head as he remembered her words. _Dethrone_ _me. I hate you. I am going to kill you with my own hands. Marrying you is my biggest regret. At least I did not kill my own father just to get the throne._

"…Actually, sire," Murdock spoke, after a small silence. "…I did hear her. I was in the room next to the audience room, and your voices carried that far, my lord."

"Oh." Oh indeed, Zephiel thought. _So that was how loud we have been screaming._ "…Then you have heard my point that she was utterly disrespectful and deserved no less from me."

"Lady Kumiko is naturally not like this. She has been as kindness and respect to you for two years. She just does not understand what is happening of current, and you are very well aware, my lord, that this war is against all of her desires. I believe some explanation may benefit you both."

_If you would not explain things to us, than you might as well explain to her. Because I have no idea why this war has started as well, but it is not in my position to pry or ask. All I can do is follow my orders._

Zephiel looked contemplative, and then he said, "I was very much aware from the beginning that she was going to loathe me for this, and yet, this is my choice. If she cannot live with it, so be it. But she cannot leave, either. I have had enough rebellion and betrayal from my sister and I will tolerate no more. Kumiko will have to learn her place and I insist she learns it."

Murdock stared at the king, failing to see the kind little boy he had once taken care of years and years ago. That little boy was dead. When Zephiel haid lain in a coffin years ago and risen to kill his father—the first life he had ever slain—he was not the same. Zephiel had been dead and left in that coffin. The current King of Bern was a different man. Only in glimpses did he see that boy again—when Zephiel talked with his sister, or laughed with (or at) his wife did Murdock again see the young Prince Zephiel. _That must not be lost. He must not lose himself._

"…You cannot keep her confined in her chambers for eternity," Murdock tried once more. "We are not aware what she might do in her desperation. I beg you to appeal to her again, Your Majesty. It will bring the castle and your subjects—and yourself—to peace again. If I had been of any service to you in all those years, my lord, I beg you to do it."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Queen's Chambers

"She refuses to talk, refuses to eat, even if we set the best food and drink before her!"

"She is acting like a mad woman! She tore all the sheets and curtains, and where in the world did she get those _knives?"_

"My lady, I beg you to help us! She shall be our undoing! We shall hang should the king be aware of this!"

Anko looked at all the Queen's attendants, buzzing around her like bees before a flower, as she stood there before the door to the Queen's Private chambers. Kumiko's attendants (much to Anko's amusement, as she had never been fond of any of those attendants herself) had been thrown out by the queen. And now they crowded around Anko like beggars, when they used to sneer and look down at her for her lack of grace or inability to adapt to nobility—that is, to wear their fancy dresses and gowns.

Anko turned to face the one attendant that was not fretting at all, at least not obviously. The red-haired Miranda was silently in a corner, keeping to herself. An interesting character, Anko thought. She was the youngest of all the queen's attendants, but the highest of rank, an heiress, the sole daughter of the lord of the Wiechenhof. That might explain her unusual calm and grace—she was much used to the pressure, being such a high-ranking woman, and she must be better educated than her peers. Kumiko had always favored her, and Anko had always wondered why. Is it because once, Kumiko was an heiress to, to Regrada, that she saw herself in the young lady? _Bah. Not likely. And why do I even bother to think of that? It is absolutely unimportant._

Miranda looked up and met the Master Spy's gaze. "Yes, Lady Anko?"

_Pfffhhh. I believe no one has called me 'lady' before. _"How long has she been going like this?"

"For two days now, I believe. She has been continuously demanding dethronement and asking why she has not seen Lady Nino or Sir Jaffar."

Anko rolled her eyes. _And I had just told her to be kind to him. Kumi does not heed advice at all._ "You have not told this to the king?"

"_We_," Miranda said, enunciating the word well while glancing at her peers—which meant to say that she meant her peers, herself not included at all, "thought that would be ill. Being at the receiving end of the king's temper is not a dazzling thought."

"Well, I'll try to snap her from this. And if she refuses to listen to me, I will bring this up to His Majesty myself."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Anko was quite surprised to be greeted by the wreckage that was the queen's room. True to what the attendants testified, the place was a mess—vases and glassware shattered all over the marble floor, curtains and bedsheets torn up, books and displays pulled out of their shelves and thrown all over. And Kumiko was there, standing by the balcony, looking down at the castle grounds.

She looked exhausted and looked pale as death—like a woman who has cried and cried without stopping. _The goddess of Regrada who cries endlessly after her husband leaves her._ For a second or so, Anko was filled with pity and guilt—she knew she was to blame for Kumiko's demise. _I was the one who put her forward. I thought she could take it. I thought I could protect her. I thought wrong._

But still, Anko approached Kumiko, and called on her attention. "Kumi."

The queen only turned to face her in the slightest, and grudgingly said, "What do you want?"

And that was when Anko's hand connected with Kumiko's cheek in a crisp slap. In its power Kumiko fell on her knees to the balcony floor, and then she looked up to Anko with a betrayed look in her eyes. "What was that for?"

"To snap you to your senses!" Anko yelled. "What you are doing will benefit none of us at all! And I have been trying to avoid saying this to you, but I dare say this now! You _want _to end this war? You _swear_ to kill Zephiel with your own hands? Then by all means, do it! You are in the best position to do it! A stab in his sleep, or poison in his wine… your opportunities here are endless! So pick yourself up and start acting well! _This _is your battlefield."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**End of Chapter.**

A/N: There you go. Huh. It seems to me that my chapters are progressing faster than I intended.

It seems to me that there are other powers trying to control Kumiko. Any guesses to who exchanged the letters?

Wow, I wrote a very long and epic confrontation between Kumiko and Zephiel…

Here we have another OC, Miranda. I hope she's as nicely constructed as my other OCs. (When will I ever stop adding OCs? Haha.) I have no obsession for OCs, by the way, but if I think a story will be enriched by adding one or will be better relayed by having one, then by all means I have no hesitation.

Some minimal Lycian theatre there, with a Heath sorta POV with his meeting of Lord Hector.

No Etrurian politics yet, apologies. I'm enjoying the Bernese politics, and if this isn't what took center stage here, then this fic should not be titled "Bern" at all… lol. XD

…Did I just successfully post a chapter in which Matthew was never mentioned? Hurrah! What a great success, though I can't say I'm happy about it. I want more Matthew. :3 Oh well, I should probably just write my own Matthew-centric fic to satisfy my desires of writing Matthew scenes. The Matthew absence was filled in by Heath. 3 Our favorite (well, at least MY favorite) Wyvern Knight will slowly be more involved in the plot, and holes as to how he got back into Bern and all that will be filled in.

After the next chapter, I am going on a long trip away from progress in this fic to start working on the Journey and also diving into my re-acquaintance with FE6. I shall re-play, re-read, and read as many supports as I can, so the rest of the politics can be beautifully executed and my facts straight. That sacrifice is for both Darkblaziken and Naryfiel, so I may execute Etruria and Elibe-in-General politics well! XD My FE6 is rusty as best, admittedly, no matter how well I may characterize Zephiel. (I'm a Zephiel fangirl, so I have no excuse to not be familiar with him!)

Suggestions for returning FE7 characters? Legault is definitely returning, by the way, but only way later in the fic. As for others, hmm…

Question: Do I have a reader here who hasn't actually played/read/is aware of FE6 but aware of FE7? I guess I just want to know because one of my main goals in writing this fic is really about bringing FE7 players to come to know FE6, thus the incorporation of some FE7 characters.

Please review the chapter in general. Reviews inspire any writer. Thanks!


	8. Capable

CHAPTER SIX | Capable

"DO IT!" Anko shouted, and Kumiko looked up at her, absolutely bewildered, even thinking that the spy was out of her mind. Most especially when the spy retreated into the queen's chambers only to later return to the balcony with a familiar dagger in her hand. She shoved the weapon into Kumiko's hand, and said, "Do it! If you say you can, then go ahead! But you're all talk, aren't you? Could you even do it?"

Kumiko looked down at the weapon in her hands, speechless. It was a short, lightweight dagger, jeweled with rubies at the hilt, a gift from Ostia's Master Spy, Matthew, from way back when they were younger. She had never actually used it to harm anyone, but the blade, glinting in the sunlight, was almost screaming that yes, it was capable. _More than capable. _It can kill a man. _All it needs is your hand to guide it._

"…What's wrong with you, Anko?" Kumiko finally asked, as she looked up to the spy, who was now leaning against the balcony railings, looking irritated.

"You want to know what's wrong? _You want to know?" _Anko turned back to her again, and Kumiko couldn't help but flinch at the barbed tone the spy was taking. "It's _you!_ You're paralyzing _all of us_! Do you think you're helping our situation any? Not at all! Do you realize the consequences of what you're doing? Do you think you're making life easier for me, or Heath, or Jaffar and Nino, with any of our actions? We're _suffering! _While you go on here with your childish tirade and rebellion against His Majesty, _we _are the ones who constantly have to endure being watched behind our backs because of _your_ actions!"

Kumiko was frozen there on the floor, unable to believe that this was happening—and with Anko, of all people! She has never shouted at her like that. "Do you think _you _can protect us? Can you protect us from the king's wrath? How hard is it to get along with Zephiel? Not even 'get along'—how hard is it to _be civil_ with him? You can disagree with him all you want, just do it well! Just don't drag us down along with you! And if you can't do it and you hate him that much, just kill him!"

"…Anko, I…"

"Do you have any idea what could happen if you lose his favor? All of us go down! Everyone who has even the littlest loyalty to you can go down! How difficult is it for Zephiel to have Jaffar imprisoned again? Or sold to bounty hunters? How difficult can it be for him to have Heath ordered to be put in the front lines, where the fighting is the fiercest? Or to be ordered into awaiting enemy archers without him knowing it? _Not difficult at all!_ He can take us down along with you if you don't act well!"

Kumiko started to panic as she took all of Anko's statements, and so tried to defend herself. "B-But I can't stand him! I can't help but fight him! Because he's wrong! Whatever you say, Zephiel is still wrong!"

"This is not a question of whether he is right or wrong!" Anko snapped. "It is a matter of how _you _are acting! I command you to get up and fix yourself and this mess that you've made and make amends with His Majesty. I _order _you to do it as facilitator of the Guild!"

Anko finally stopped, breathless, and without another word, she walked out.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

THE SACAE-BERN BORDER | A Small Cottage

_I bring good news and bad news._

_Firstly, I bring such great news from Lycia that I can hardly contain my happiness and must write immediately to you, my lord. Erik Laus (of whom we are all affectionately disgusted of, most especially your assistant, I hear) is dead. The scoundrel has defected to Bern and has attacked the group of Lord Roy of Pherae. He has been defeated by Lord Roy and that is the end of the Laus nobility, of which we are all glad of since they have been a long line of scoundrels._

_However, this is a clear indication that Lycia as a whole can no longer fight, and Laus might not be the only traitor in our own lands. Nor can the Lycia Alliance Army be officially put together now. Asking for help from the other countries—Etruria, most especially, will become inevitable._

_I have asked around Lord Roy's group and bring the saddest news that our liege Lord Hector is dead._

_To lighten up that sad news, I have also had a sighting of who could be none other than our beloved pink-haired cleric. I hope to get in touch with her soon (and not regret it later)._

_I have news from A that Lady Lilina, while still hostage, is safe and in good condition. He is struggling to get to her as of this moment and believes that Lord Roy's group is out to rescue our little princess._

Matthew stared almost quizzically at the letter, not sure whether he should be humored by his agent's tone of writing, or hurt because of the sad tidings he also brought, which must have been carefully written in between good tidings to lessen its ache.

"Why are you staring at the report like that?" Matthew was snapped from his thinking when Xarin spoke. She had pulled down the curtains of the house, blocking out the intense sunlight from outside that was only proof of living near Sacae in their summertime.

"Well, firstly my dear, the report brings news that Erik Laus is dead," Matthew said, as he turned his chair around from his desk to face her. And there she was, sitting by the bed, waiting patiently for his story.

"Good riddance," she said. "I had wanted to kill him myself but now I'm just glad enough he's dead."

Matthew managed a small laugh at Xarin's remark. Once, a few years ago, Xarin had been given a mission to personally investigate Erik Laus. Lord Hector had received news from his spies that Laus seems to be acting odd during the period when news that Lord Eliwood of Pherae's health was in decline. Hector had worried that Erik would take Eliwood's weakness as an opportune time to attack Pherae—no matter if it were also part of Lycia, since Erik had held a lifelong grudge against Eliwood and Hector since their youth. Erik Laus was also ill-famed for his womanizing, reason why Xarin, a female spy, was chosen to do the task. She had secured herself a place into the Laus court under a new identity and soon became Erik's favorite, and he had started pursuing and persuading her to love him (or, in Matthew's opinion, sleep with him, because a man like Erik was a wretch and did not know what love is, and whether or not _that_ didhappen, Matthew would hate to know. The idea of sending any of his female spies into Erik Laus' bed made him shudder). Xarin held Erik's attention as she started looking for evidences against him. And the climax came when finally, just when Erik was excited to have Xarin in his chambers, she holds a dagger to Erik's throat, reveals that she is an assassin, and threatens to kill him should he do anything ill to Pherae.

Matthew nearly came out laughing, as he re-imagined the scene in his head. A half-naked Erik with Xarin in a nightdress, and the moment Xarin pulls out that dagger and threatens to kill him (or worse, Matthew thought, cut his manhood then and there, so that he can no longer brag about seducing ladies. Xarin should have done that). The look on Erik's face in that moment would be priceless. So priceless it nearly brought tears to Matthew's eyes just imagining it.

"_What _are you smirking about?"

Matthew finally snapped, but he couldn't help his smirk all the same as he looked back at Xarin. "Ooh, dear. Just thinking about Erik Laus. You had your good days with him, hadn't you?"

"Good? Those were the worst days of my life," Xarin said, every bit serious, but it only made Matthew laugh some more.

Eventually, though, he quieted down and continued. "As I was saying, his death is welcome and good news. However, our liege Lord Hector has died, too…"

There was a small silence between them after that—Hector has, in his own ways, helped both of them a lot and has been good to them. But then eventually Xarin points out the important question:

"What happens now? …Who do we work for, now?"

Matthew's face took on a more serious look, as he pondered the question. _Your death doesn't mean the end, my lord. We will fight as you want us to. All this information we gain should not go to waste. But how do we act, now?_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Library

Anko, in her audacity and confidence, had decided to appear before the king and speak to him in regards to Kumiko. _If she will not try to save herself and all of us, I, at least, must try._

It had been Anko's habit to appear unannounced even to a man like Zephiel, ever since they were children. Back then, she appeared to him and walked out on him as she saw fit, and he did not think her ill for this habit of hers. But ever since Zephiel became king, things have changed, there are rules to be followed. One doesn't just 'appear' to the King of Bern. However, Anko decided to risk it, and after confirming Zephiel's location, she had boldly walked into the Library, to see him there.

He was facing the huge glass windows that ran along the library walls, as if contemplating the view outside. However, he was not alone. Standing beside him was a small cloaked figure—more so smaller in comparison to Zephiel, who had such presence and was absurdly tall. Both figures turned towards Anko when she entered the room. And she was face-to-face with the King of Bern and the cloaked figure—Idenn.

_The Dark Priestess._ That was what soldiers and even Anko's own spies have been calling her. Always hiding in her cloaks, she seems to be a frail young woman with much control over the dark arts and… dragons. She was the one who made it possible for the ferocious, supposedly mythological beings enter and fight in Bern's wars. Always seen beside King Zephiel and not seen at all if not with him, no one—even Anko herself—had the chance to pry and investigate on this woman. Not that anyone would voluntarily want to investigate her—she was… _eerie_. Even one of the Three Wyvern Generals, General Brenya, was recently reported to call Idenn "sinister".

Ever since she came, Zephiel changed even more drastically. Was it her powers that attracted Zephiel, the reason why he put her under his care? Was it the ability to control the arcane arts and dragons that she willingly lent him what made the king pursue war?

Anko dared to look at both of them in regard, and then she swept a bow. "My lord, my lady, I am sorry to interrupt you both. I am here to ask a minute of you, Your Highness."

Zephiel simply regarded the spy with a nod, and asked, "Is anything the matter?"

Anko looked warily at Idenn, still standing there and watching, and for a second the spy thought if she should or not speak. But she was already there, so she continued, never looking up from her bow. "I come as Her Majesty's friend. I beg you to speak to her, my lord. She has not touched any of the food her attendants give her and has violently trashed her chambers. She is acting irrationally and I fear she might hurt herself in her childish rebellion. How difficult is it to reconcile with her, my lord? You need not give in to anything she says, just… I beg you, my king, if I had been any service to you at all for all these years, please talk to her."

She finally straightened, and looked up to him, as if to gauge his reaction to her direct request. Zephiel rolled his eyes—hasn't he heard the same plea from Murdock a few days ago?

"Anko," he began to speak to her, the words coming out slowly, as if each word was trying to make a point, "tell me, is this not how humans manner? If I no longer delight in my wife and she causes me more headache than joy, do I not have every reason to leave her or disregard her or look somewhere else, like my father did?"

Anko gasped a little at his words—more so his last implication. Has he looked somewhere else and found someone else? Did he actually favor this Dark Priestess now more than he did Kumiko? Was his affection shifting?

…_Highly unlikely,_ Anko had to tell herself. _Zephiel does not look at any woman twice._

"I would hate to have a man who would act like that," Anko remarked.

"So you say. But that is how men—no, all humans are. Greedy and discontent. Self-centered and irrational."

_You talk as if you are not human, _Anko thought to herself, but she thought better against saying it. Instead she argued, "My lord. Perhaps you speak the truth—humans are like so, and I would be a hypocrite to say that I myself do not have that flaw. But, my king, aware of this human flaw—aware that this is what humans typically do—would you fall into the same pattern and make the same selfish choices? We are aware of the human error, and it could only be called folly if we are and yet we still make them." Anko then bowed out, so that she would have the last words and Zephiel would have no room to argue. "I beg your leave."

And she left without asking for his actual permission, as quickly as she appeared without his notice. _Old habits die hard._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Two pleas are too many. I am sure, if Guinevere were here, she would be begging me to do the same thing. I cannot—can never—disregard what Murdock ever says. And Anko—she is a snake at best, but she cares deeply for Kumiko too that she may do this, for friendship's sake. But Kumiko is a most ungrateful woman. If I did something kind for her, she simply doesn't notice it and never pays it back._

She never belonged in his world.

Funny, that point, since most people thought that the Strategy Queen, one also with noble blood, would fit in easily in Bern Keep and life of royalty. She never did. She had grown accustomed to it over time, but she had never stopped to show—in little ways—her rebellion for the rules and protocol of castle life. But she was the Queen—she could get away with it. _And the problem was, I let her. Now she thinks she can get away with anything._

He had seen her struggle to keep up with him, to try so hard to fit into his routine, but one day she just stopped trying, as if in realization that it was pointless. She had stopped trying altogether, not even taking up the responsibilities that were supposed to be hers as queen—those responsibilities remained on Guinevere's shoulders. Instead, she did what she wanted and as she saw fit. She left the Keep more than necessary and was probably more a woman of the commons than she was royalty. She spent her time in little towns with housewives or farmers or, if not that, talking with the lords of the lands for the sake of those housewives and farmers. She did her own thing and built a world apart from theirs. A world where he will never be able to join in, because of his responsibilities as king.

And yet he always sided on her. When other noblemen and courtiers start to question her worth as queen or her actions, or whenever she does something embarrassing, he has sided on her. _Because if she looks bad, so do I. Maybe that was the reason she never learned her place._ _I never tried to waste my time correcting her or telling her if I thought she was wrong. Why waste my time on that? But I let her go too freely. She thinks she can get away with everything now. _

_Kumiko never really tried. She never really wanted this. Or, maybe, she just wanted the power that came with royalty. The ability to be heard, and get away with everything. But she never wanted the responsibilities. She never wanted to be a wife to a king, a mother to her people, a lover to a man._

…_Selfish woman. Maybe I should just dethrone her and give her what she wants._

"My lord, you called for me?"

He was stirred from his thoughts when he found standing before him Kumiko's attendant, Miranda. She stood there, a red-haired, svelte, pretty young thing, and Zephiel couldn't help but look over her and think that, ironically, this attendant had more grace—and beauty, even—than the woman she served.

_Not like it matters, _Zephiel thought. _I've had enough of women. The curse of all the kings of Bern. _

He was quick to recall why he had summoned the attendant in the first place. "I've heard reports about how your Lady Kumiko is acting. Are they true?"

"If the reports are of her admitting no one, refusing to eat anything, and obliterating the room in her rage, then yes, my lord, the reports are true."

Zephiel felt himself wince at each act that Miranda mentioned. _Kumiko, this is a childish thing you are doing. _"She eats nothing? You prepare all the meals that she loves?"

"Yes," Miranda said. "Still she does not touch them, and if we even attempt to enter her bedchambers, where she has sequestered herself in, she screams at us like she is mad."

_She thinks she can get away with everything. _He groaned, and said, "That woman. Does she think what she's doing will achieve anything at all? We'll see how long she can keep up like this."

There was silence, and Miranda looked like she had nothing to say, he had almost thought that his remark was understood as a command to leave. His eyes started wandering aimlessly around the library, at the chess set laid out before the table he was sitting before. But throughout that silence Miranda did not leave—she had simply stood there, and after some contemplation, called on his attention again.

"Your Majesty."

But Zephiel only turned to the woman, and asked, in a tone somewhat irate, since for him the conversation was over and done with, and who was she to try to press it further? "What is it?"

"You should see the queen."

_Now she was being audacious._ The king only looked at her curiously—who was she to tell him what to do? She was just an attendant, and of the queen's. But in a snap, he recalled that he was talking to the daughter of the marquess of Wiechenhof, and Kumiko's favorite attendant. Now he knew why she was the favorite. She spoke her mind just like her father, and just like the queen. They talked like they expected to be heard and to get away with what they say.

_I never lived like that. I never had that luxury. I was a noble and I was the prince of Bern, but still, still, all my actions were bound to be wrong no matter how I tried. I never got away with anything. Everything I did was wrong._

"Why should I do as you say?" he asked, deciding to test the attendant's skill when it came to reasoning with him.

"She will die," Miranda spoke as if what she said was a certainty. "She will cut herself. You don't know, my king, but the queen keeps daggers and such in her room. They were mostly gifts from friends to defend herself with, but if desperate she will see no wrong in using them on herself. She would cut herself. Hang herself in her balcony, even. If my lord knows my lady that much, he will know that she is capable of that."

_Capable_. Kumiko was definitely capable of suicide. Though she may be selfish in her own right, she was also self-inflicting and grave when it came to things that she believed herself to be responsible for. Such as, the peace and balance of the continent, which he was destroying. It was as if he were destroying the very purpose of her life. If it were matters such as this, yes, Kumiko could hurt herself.

"Why do you tell me this?" the king asked.

"It's my job, sire, to look after the queen, isn't it? I am only doing my job."

He smiled at Miranda—a smile with the look of a point scored. _You sound just like your father. _"And why do you think," he asked, "that if I see her, she will stop this madness?"

"The queen is competitive. What she does is a sign of rebellion, an act that contests you. If you come to her, she will think it a sign of surrender, as if she won against you."

"Surrender," he said, in what seemed to be musing. "What makes her think I surrender? She can cut herself and I wouldn't care."

"So you say, sire, that you would engross yourself in this petty game my queen has thought up? It is not like you, my king. You would not let her die on a whim. You are clever, my king, but not whimsical."

_Now you sound like Anko. _Anko's argument was valid-

For a second, there was a tinge of envy in the king. His subjects were loyal to him and he had men willing to die for him, and men willing to fulfill his every command. She had but few confidantes in the castle, but all of them were skilled, all of them extremely loyal, and all of them complemented for what the queen lacked. She was never cunning—but she had Anko and Miranda to fill that in. She was never physically strong—but she had Nino and Jaffar and Heath to fight for her. _Such a lucky woman. One day, I hope she loses everyone who fights for her, so she can realize that she can't get away with everything at all._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Queen's Chambers

Kumiko looked as distraught as her chamber, as she sat there on her couch, drinking warm ale. She had repeatedly thought back and pondered on Anko's words. _Have I done more harm than I did help? …Maybe she is right. All I do is let my emotions get the better of me without even thinking of what could happen to my friends. But I cannot support or even feign support for this madness that Zephiel is doing. I would have to go against it, but how? Would I have to betray him by some treachery? Would I have to…_

And her gaze falls down to the jeweled dagger on her lap. _But I'm not sure I can kill a man, either. He may call me so, and he may be right in a way, but I am not a murderer. I'm not…_

_And what does Anko want? She is the Queen of Ulterior Motives. Does she actually want me to murder Zephiel, or is that just an outpouring of her emotions?But that's ridiculous. Why would she want me to kill Zephiel? She is loyal to him._

Around her, her attendants were busy at work renovating her chambers—pulling out the torn-up curtains and replacing them, cleaning up the things she had thrown on the floor, such and such. She had let them in as a favor to Anko and as an acknowledgement that what the spy said had some truth in it. _If I continue like this, Zephiel's anger might reach its boiling point, and he can harm all of us._

"Oh, Kumiko!"

Kumiko looked up towards the familiar, happy voice that called her, and was overjoyed to find Nino rushing towards her to embrace her, Jaffar not far behind. "Nino!" Kumiko said, as she hugged back her friend. "I'm so glad you're here! What happened? Where have you been?"

"His Majesty had as kept in our rooms," said Jaffar, speaking while taking in the mess that he once knew as the queen's bedchamber, "but he has lift our confinement just a while ago."

"I had to see you immediately, I just had to!" said Nino, as she pulled back from her embrace with Kumi to look at her friend. "You've argued with him, haven't you? It must be rough. You must tell me everything later, so I can help in any way I can!"

Kumiko managed a smile at Nino's kindness—or naivety. _It is rough, but you must have had it harder, suffering for actions that I make. _"It's alright. I'm fine. How about you? I take it being confined is no fun, especially since you have hardly done anything wrong."

"Don't worry about it," said Nino, positive as always. "It is something we can endure. Besides, we have not been harmed, and Jaffar and I can live even if we didn't have to leave our rooms."

Kumiko almost felt something like a stab at her heart to hear Nino say such words. _It is something you can endure now, but what about later? What if he has ordered to harm you? I will never forgive myself._

"Kumiko," Jaffar spoke, "I have yet to give you my honest counsel on these current matters and if you would allow me to speak—"

"I know, Jaffar," Kumiko stopped him, already knowing what he was about to say. _I will not put you and your wife in harm's way again next time. _"I'll be careful. It will not happen again. Nothing like this will happen to you and Nino again, and I apologize for what you've been through."

Jaffar took her statements and simply gave her a nod.

"Oh, goodness," Nino said, as she began looking through the room and all the attendants at work, and then, at Kumiko herself. "Kumi! You look just as distraught as this place. I'll call to prepare the Royal Bath for you so you can relax and look better. We must have your favorite food called out, too. Times are tough, but you have to be strong, Kumiko."

Kumiko nodded. She had to be strong indeed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Office of the Master of Spies

Anko was surprised that, the second she entered her office, the mountainous stack of papers and documents were gone, as if by miracle. _I can actually see the floor!_

And then there the entity sitting there in her surprisingly clean office—a tall figure in the standard armor of a Wyvern Knight sitting on one of her couches, taking something warm to drink. _Heath. Of course it would be Heath. Who else would have the gall to enter my office uninvited? _Moreover, Hyperion gave him away. The old wyvern was there, snoring to himself in Anko's office balcony. Heath himself had a habit of turning up and dropping by Anko's inconveniently situated office, since for him, it was not inconvenient at all—he was a wyvern knight.

_One among the few decent Wyvern Knight amonst Bern's plethora of fools who call themselves Wyvern Knights, I dare say. _Anko couldn't help but smile as she remarked that in her mind again. She couldn't help it even if she tried to—Heath was one of those people who she admittedly found admirable. _There is not one awful thing I can say against him._

..._I sound like a stupid infatuated child. _Anko shook her head to herself and straightened her thoughts.

"Hey," Anko said, to call on his attention.

Heath stirred, and set aside what he was drinking. "Oh, hello Anko," he said, getting up from his leisurely seat on her couch and turning to face her. "I was waiting for you. You weren't at the Guild—by the way, the last of your friends have left."

Anko let a small laugh escape from her lips. _Such a gentleman. You don't have to get up just to greet me. _Anko only realized that momentary lapse in thought when she found Heath giving her a puzzled look, undoubtedly asking why she laughed. She shrugged and just decided to go ahead and say it. "Sit down," she said, still smiling. "You don't have to get up for me, silly. And I can see you've cleaned up after me again."

Heath shrugged, and offered, "It was Hyperion, not me."

A sudden image of the wyvern Hyperion actually scarfing down all those papers entered Anko's mind, making her laugh again. "So _that_ explains why he's tired," she told Heath, as she took a seat across his, and taking cue from her, he sat down as well, resuming to his drink.

Theirs had been an uneasy alliance at first. Fifteen years ago, Kumiko came back from her campaign with the wyvern rider and fugitive Heath in tow, begging Anko to let him stay with them in the Guild since he had nowhere to go. Anko, against the idea at first, finally gave in. She hadn't any regrets about it, even at first, since Heath was a kind of person who tried not to get in anyone's way and tried to carry his own weight. After Kumiko started to leave again and travel again, eventually leaving Anko and Heath mostly alone in the Guild, Anko found that it was easy to ask Heath to do errands. Whether it was picking up something in the market or repairs or anything else, Heath managed to do it and do it well. Why he keeps doing things for her was inexplicable—maybe it was his sense of honor or something like that, since she gave him a place to stay in.

_He's brilliant, he just doesn't notice it. Or maybe he does, he just doesn't rub it in your face or say anything about it. That's what makes him bearable._

Anko was not aware, back then, that she would not only be accepting Kumiko's friend (and a brilliant "enrrand boy" of sorts for her), but one of her closest contacts in the future. Once reinstated as a Wyvern Knight, Anko found that Heath was the most reliable source she had when it came to things of the military of Bern—he told her everything. This was valuable, since the soldiers of Bern tended to avoid the spies of Bern like the plague, and the king himself was intent on keeping the spies out of the military's business, and made it clear that they were not part of the military force. Heath was her only connection to the politics in the military.

She was able to detect, two years ago, that war was underway since Heath—who had been long-serving in Bern's military to be able to figure out for himself what the slightest changes in activity meant—had brought it to her attention. _He was a military genius in his own right, only he didn't notice it._ He was much content simply being able to help the oppressed when he can and taking care of his wyvern and all that. And at such, she overruled him. Used him even. Borrowed his skill for analyzing the military activities well and in a way, turned him into one of his spies—and he doesn't even seem to be aware of it. He only seemed to be talking to Anko and telling things out of a loyalty or friendship of some sort.

_He trusts me. I just don't understand why. And oddly, I trust him too. And I can't figure why and this is ridiculous. I hope my silly childish infatuation isn't just blinding me._

"I thought the military is being too strict these days," Anko told him. "Good that you managed to show yourself here. How was Araphen?"

Heath looked thoughtful, and he proceeded to sip on his drink before he answered. "…The defenses of Araphen were formidable. Of course, since most of the Lycia Alliance was there, and Lord Hector's armies are not to be underestimated either. But then… but then…" Heath's words trailed off, and he looked like he was recalling images from a nightmare. "…But then the Dark Priestess came and summoned two Fire Dragons—and what human could match that?"

Anko looked thoughtful herself. Again, it was the Dark Priestess. She was a figure of mystery, the straw that must be dealt with. _She started this war, in a way. Ever since she came, Zephiel changed. _"And how did you find her this time, the Dark Priestess? Anything new?"

Heath shook his head. "Nothing. There is nothing to be found about her. As usual, he stays by His Majesty's side and is guarded by His Majesty himself. No one else has the chance to get close to her or figure what she is or how she does what she does."

_She is the one that must be dealt with. _"I see," said Anko, thoughts drifting, the gears in her head clanking to make sense of everything that was going on. This Dark Priestess figure must be dealt with, but how? Zephiel would not have it. It could have been easier to deal with Zephiel rather than the Dark Priestess. Who was pulling the reins here—Zephiel, or was it Idenn? Who was the one to be dealt with?

"…I've dealt with dragons, once," Heath spoke, breaking the silence. Anko turned back to look at him and listened intently. "You know I have—the campaign with Kumiko fifteen years ago. I haven't learned much—I was not that involved with the story. I simply fought back then—all I found out was that dragons are fierce and a force to be dealt with. Only the legendary weapons can deal with them. We haven't fought too many dragons—just a couple or so—but Idenn is bringing them out by the threes and fives and tens. How can anyone deal with that?"

Anko shook her head sadly, and answered, "It can't be dealt with that easily, Heath. We both know it. We can't win this war from the outside. There is no fighting Bern's famed military. There is no defeating those dragons. The only way to end this is from the inside. If we take it out personally against His Highness or Idenn."

Heath and Anko both met each other's gaze, and both knew that they were in for a long and difficult journey with much at stake. Lives were at stake here—not only others', but their own. "You could die if His Highness found out about this, you know," Heath said, unnecessarily, sounding concerned.

_Concerned? Bah. This is probably just my mind doing weird things and adding color to everything._

"Of course I know," she said. "…The same goes for you."

They were silent for a while, and there was an awkwardness in it, which Anko had always associated with Heath. Fifteen years of having to be with him, there were silences like this that made her awkward. She eventually figured out why, at least in her opinion—because they were as different as night and day. He was absolutely honorable. She had none of that at all. She looked up to Heath in some regard, and yet there were times he made her feel awkward without him knowing it, simply because he was absolutely different from her. And yet, they worked together.

_...He probably likes those sweet, pretty little things with kind hearts. _

_Wait, why am I even thinking that? Not like it matters. I benefit from him—he probably doess from me as well. I'm uneasy with this and I'd rather be as far as I can from him now, but really. No other choice. He's the only one._

_Fifteen years and I still can't shake off these silly, silly feelings._

"…Military activity is becoming slow," Heath suddenly said, returning back to the conversation. "For once I don't know what to make of it. There are a few forces that remain in Lycia, but they aren't that much to be thought of. Most of the forces are back in Bern, and I see no sign that we're going to be attacking anywhere soon. We haven't occupied Lycia and claimed it as our own, either, like with Sacae and Ilia. I don't understand _why._"

_Why indeed. What are you thinking, Zephiel?_

And she looked back at Heath, who seemed deep in thought of what to do, and she sighed.

_What are you thinking, Heath?_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Royal Baths

Nino had called for attendants to prepare the Royal Bath for Kumiko, but was dismayed to find the pool of water in the grandiose room to be a little too cold for her and Kumiko's tastes. Therefore, in a grand display of magic, Nino had summoned a Fire spell and heated the pools herself. Afterwards she sent the stunned attendants to leave her and Kumi alone.

"I swear, Nino, you are my best attendant, you take such good care of me," Kumiko said with a little laugh, as she stripped and stepped into the bath. "You're like the mother I never had."

Nino laughed as well, as she looked through the glass shelves of bath soaps and hair oils, and picked out Kumi's favorite. "Oh, but you're too big to be my little girl!" said Nino.

Kumiko laughed at that, too, only to later dimly recall that somewhere out there, Nino had two children who never had a mother.

If Nino remembered that, she did not let on. She only continued to chatter of good things with Kumiko, striving to make the queen happy as she helped her in the bath and lathered the hair oil into her hair. The Royal Bath had been, admittedly, their own little territory, for here they talked freely, and sometimes Nino would even slip into the bath with Kumiko and they would stay soaked there for hours (an act which puzzled their husbands much).

They had been in a little chat when Nino had stopped speaking in mid-sentence, and suddenly looked surprised. Puzzled, Kumiko asked, "What is it, Nino?" But Nino didn't have to answer as Kumiko opened her eyes and turned to where the mage was facing—and there she saw Zephiel.

"Nino, you may leave us," Zephiel said, and Nino had just nodded and quickly bowed out, leaving Zephiel and Kumiko alone in the damp and warm royal bath. Kumiko immediately reached out for her bathing robe, and quickly and discreetly put it on as she stepped out of the bath.

"Your Majesty," she greeted, just as she was tying the knots to her robe. She was still wet and soaking, though, puddles of water pooling underneath her feet. And then, as if an afterthought, she offered him a curtsy.

He just stared critically at her, and then said, "You seem well enough to me. I heard reports that the last few days you have been acting odd and refusing to eat. It seems you're through with that? Or are you just overjoyed that you got what you want and I finally set your friends free?"

She flinched, and badly wanted to talk back at him and scream at him again—but this time, she thought against it. _I'll bite my tongue, for my friend's sake, even if it is against me. _She could find nothing to say, though, so she just remained silent and pulled her eyes away from him. She could not even look at him.

"Kumiko, I do not—I will not—have you acting like that again. Is that clear?"

"…Yes, Zephiel," she said, weakly.

"I do not want the Queen of Bern acting like that," he said. "And if I have said anything offending to you the past few days I apologize for it."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

And then he proceeded to pull out something from his cloak—he came out with her royal circlet, and then he put the item on a stool he found by the bath. "It's still yours," he told her. "Wear it. It looks good on you."

_It looks good on you. _Kumiko found herself thinking on those words long and hard. Many nobles and courtiers have accused her of that—as something that only looks good. _I look good as Queen but it has no purpose for me and it is absolutely senseless on me expect for the fact that it looks good. _

He turned to leave, but then, in an effort to heed Anko's advice and be kind to Zephiel, Kumiko called on him. "Zephiel…"

He stopped and turned back to face her. "Yes?"

"…I'm sorry for how I acted, too. If I have said anything offensive, I apologize, too. I'm sorry," she said, sounding sincere, though she knew in her heart that she was not.

But he just raised a puzzled brow at her. _Kumiko? Apologizing to me? Something is off. She is stubborn and when she sees nothing wrong with what she does—and I think that is still the case—she will never apologize. _"You are apologizing for what exactly?" he asked.

"For…" she said, and she fell silent for a while, not really knowing what to say, and a little embarrassed as well. "For being disrespectful. I should not have yelled at you like so. As you say, I forget my place. And for… for talking about your father."

_Ah, that. You should definitely apologize for that. _"So you are saying sorry to me for those?"

_No. I have said nothing wrong and everything I said was true and you all deserved it. _"Yes," she said, not knowing what he was going about to ask her so many questions about her apology.

He asked again. "Do you truly mean it?"

_Does he actually see that well into my lies? _"Y-Yes, I do…"

"Then come over here and kiss me."

She looked up to him sharply, surprised at his request. _Ah, so that's it. That's what you want. _But still, only after a few seconds of hesitation, she walked up to him and tiptoed to give him a quick, light kiss on his lips.

When she pulled away, Zephiel was silent, only looking down at her and studying her reaction. She fidgeted, and she could not even look at him. She was flushed, embarrassed no doubt. She had never been the first to initiate any physical advance between the two of them.

And then, after that silence, he said, "Take your robe off."

"W-What?" Kumiko said, shocked, as she backed away from him now, as if she couldn't believe what she had heard.

He repeated it for her. "Take your robe off."

"But Zephiel…" Kumiko could feel her nerves now, as she slowly backed away from Zephiel, her feet feeling the wet, slippery floor of the Royal Bath. _I never should have started this act of being kind to you! _"I-I'm not wearing anything else…"

"I know," he said. _Of course I know. That's why I'm asking you to do it. _"You say you're sorry and you mean to apologize to me. I want you to prove that."

"I don't have to prove my sincerity in—"

"Yes you do," he snapped. "You've been my wife for two years, Kumiko. You have never apologized to me, even if you've done something wrong, and most especially when you think you've done nothing wrong. So you apologize now? A grand lie. I don't believe any of it. So prove it—if it is true."

"Zephiel, I… I…"

"Will you _never _trust me, Kumiko?"

Kumiko could feel her knees giving away underneath her, and it took her much to stay standing there before him and control her body from shuddering in fear. _Why is he asking me to do this? What is he thinking? His apology is as fake as mine. He's just going to use me. But if I don't do what he says, all this lying and all my effort to be nice to him would be shrugged off.I hate you, Zephiel. I hate you. _And so she found herself shutting her eyes close in fear as her hands pulled off the knots of her bathing robe and then pull the clothing off her skin. It fell down, a wet heap on the floor by her feet.

It took her much to open her eyes again and acknowledge the fact that she was bare before him, but she could not—and would not—look at him, so she did not see the quick head-to-foot gaze he regarded her with. And when he stepped towards her, she flinched, and shut her eyes tight again, as if preparing for the worst.

He stopped when he was before her, and then, much to her surprise, kissed her on her forehead. That was what he did and only that. She opened her eyes in surprise, and she wanted to look at him and question him why that was what he chose to do, when he could have had her then and there. But then she leaned in towards her to whisper to her.

"Thank you for trusting me enough for that. I'll see you later at dinner, my wife. And hopefully after that I'll see you in my chambers. It's been a while since you have taken off and left to your own apartments. …I'll take my leave."

And he left her. And she sank to her knees, not knowing what to feel. She glanced up at the circlet sitting there on her bath stool, gold and rubies winking at her. He had come and showed her concern—or what seemed like it, or what some would perceive it to be—as he expressed his continued favor of her, never letting her go or actually punishing her for anything she had done. He had given her her crown back and asked her to take it back. He had apologized to her. And yet at the same time, he had also expressed his superiority by making her follow his commands. He had also made her feel, _you are nothing, you are no one, you are only a woman set to follow my whims._

_What a game, _Kumiko thought. _Too many lies. Too many complications. This is worse than battle tactics. I don't know if I can play this game with him, either. I cannot play him into my fingers. But he is very well capable of snaring me in his own net again. I'm tired. I want none of this. I want this to end. Maybe I should just..._

_Maybe I should just kill him. And then we'd both be free of this._

**End of Chapter.**

A/N: A/N: There you go. My Matthew fangirling returns! I cannot help but include him in this scene again. The exchange of news between him and his spies provides a good overview for the events in Lycia. Maybe once the Lycian theater is over, Matthew's role will lessen and eventually stop. Gasp.

I admit, I got carried away writing that Erik and Xarin retelling. I was laughing to myself while writing it, haha! (I should probably write a self-indulgent side-fic concentrating on that event, lol.) Viewing the whole thing from Matthew's opinion makes things double-fold amusing for me. _Forgetful Dreamer_ has asked in a past review about one of Matt's earlier remarks about Xarin and Erik, so there is the explanation. I saw the opportune time for that explanation when I realized that Erik Laus was dying about this time of the game.

I don't know whether or not to call Idenn/Idoun by either names. Nintendo should remake, so we have an official name for certain people. In that context—Bruunya or Brenya? GAAAH.

In Anko's argument with Zephiel, we start to see his ideology for why he starts the war and all that, and how Anko uses that ideology to corner Zephiel and make him do what she wants. I also realize that Zephiel in FE6 must be crazy to some extent (it hurts to admit this, being a Zephiel fangirl). I would liken him to some terrorist who suddenly gained some radical ideology stemming from his hurtful past, and therefore ends up forcing that ideology to everyone and seeing it even by using extreme methods. I refuse to write uberly crazy Zephiel, though. I write striving to retain a little of his kindness in FE7 and highlighting his brilliance/cunning, while he slowly goes down the path to craziness. If we had seen a still-kinda-kind Zephiel in the beginning, well, he is slowly losing it.

I can imagine Darkblaziken reading the royal bath scene and thinking, "OMG Zephiel is such a pervert… dislike!" XDDD (IMO I don't really think it's perversion. I think it's natural, thinking of Kumi and Zephiel's case, and noting that Zephiels' affection for Kumiko is lessening.)

I tried to explore what I could of Heath and Anko, and that scene is what I got. Personally, I can attribute Heath to having much knowledge about Bern's Military—a carry-on from his traits in The Journey, in where he sometimes helps out Kumiko by giving advice of what he knows from being a wyvern knight of Bern. I don't know why—he just strikes me as that kind. Protest if you think otherwise.

Writing about Heath and Anko kinda felt like writing about Heath-Legault (o.O) They (Heath and Anko) are two very different characters and if I'm going to write about them liking each other, my, what a challenge, especially with Anko's tendency to use people. Here I see we are possibly looking at a one-sided Anko thing. That was darn difficult to write! I don't know if it seemed natural at all or "in-character" for Anko (who is my OC so I of all people should know, but sometimes, I just don't. This is why Sues exist—sometimes even the writers can't see when their own characters are turning out unnatural and unreal. So some correction and advice if that is the case, please!)

I'll be cosplaying Lethe! I've always wanted to cosplay someone from FE, even if it isn't that popular _at all_ over here.

In response to my question last month, I've received requests to return Raven, Sain, and Lucius into this fic. Discussion: How do you see them returning? Fandom suggests Lucius to be dead in FE6. Sain can be possibly seen returning as one of his endings see him as a wandering independent knight. And Raven? HMM.

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	9. Shadow

CHAPTER SEVEN | Shadow

_She is capable of cutting herself. She would cut herself. Hang herself on her balcony, even. If my lord knew my lady that well, you would know that she is indeed capable._

He remembered something he had sworn to forget, long and far ago.

He had ran to the Queen's Chambers as soon as he heard the news, feeling his heart thumbing so quickly in his chest that it began to hurt. _It cannot be real. I have told her that she would live to see the day when everything will be alright and we would be happy. She cannot cheat on me like this. She cannot leave me! _And his world came at a standstill when he had just somehow found his way into the Queen's Chambers, looking around the huge rooms, smelling her scent in the air. So it cannot be real. She was there, her scent was there, her presence was there, and so she existed. But the chambers were empty of her, and for what seemed like a lifetime, he gathered the courage to push aside the balcony curtains.

Her fresh white sheets of linen were tied around the balcony railings. He dared to look down. And he gasped at what he saw, as he felt his knees give away and tears start pouring.

I'm all alone now. Why did you leave me alone?

…_No one is allowed to leave me anymore. I will not permit it. You have done it, Mother. Guinevere has done it. So by all means I will not let my wife go the same way you all went. All of you were the only women I have ever let have a place in my life. And yet, all of you were my curse._

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BERN KEEP | The Queen's Chambers

"He's going to—he's going to—is he? Or is he not?" Kumiko fretted, walking left and right, right and left, in the confines of her private bedroom. Nino was there, sitting on the red velvet couch, beside Anko, who was there against her will but did not regret coming once she has heard what Kumiko's problem was. Kumiko was, apparently, convinced that Zephiel had indecent plans for her this evening—and that sent her to panic.

Which is one thing Anko—and even Nino—somehow found laughable. "Kumi," Anko began, "your own husband cannot possibly rape you. It's simply not possible. And if he does attempt it, it's his _right_."

"But—but! I'm not ready! I can't, I'm not mentally or emotionally prepared for all of this and—"

Anko, now grinning widely, turned to the equally amused Nino and asked her, "How old were _you _when you had your children?"

"Oh, I think I was, what, sixteen? Seventeen?" Nino answered, with an air of nonchalance, making it sound like she was teasing Kumiko—which she was.

"And we see here that Kumiko is already almost twice that age and she barely knows anything," Anko remarked. Nino nodded.

"I'm not that old!" Kumiko said, defending herself. "I'm not even thirty! …At least not yet for now, but that's not the point! And you're older than me, Anko, and you're not even married yet."

"And don't even start talking about me," said Anko. "_You're_ the one with a problem here. You're the one who is potentially going to be 'raped' after all by her husband—if that is possible at all."

"I don't see what your problem is, Kumi," Nino said, with a tone that meant it this time—no teasing. "It's been two years. His Majesty has hardly forced you into anything—why can't you just say 'no' like you always have?"

"Because this time," Kumiko said, "I am honestly convinced that he secretly loathes me and therefore will force me to do it."

"Then just let him do it," said Anko.

"B-But I can't!"

"You sound worse than a cleric who has vowed to chastity," Anko said. "And even a cleric would drop her vow, I think, once she is aware that it is the most powerful man on the continent who wants her!"

Nino couldn't help but giggle at the comparison, and Kumiko couldn't see what the two found funny at all. Because, for her, she was utterly distressed.

And then three knocks came on the door, and Miranda found it right to peer inside and call, "My ladies, court dinner is to start in an hour."

At this, immediately Nino jerked up and said, "Oh my! I must—_We_ must get dressed!"

"You mean the two of you," said Anko, "not me." The spy hardly attended the court gatherings, and if she did, she never stuck to protocol or wore anything fancy.

"I must run to Jaffar to try on my new gown. He got it for me—it's a beautiful cerulean hue!" Nino shared excitedly. And then she turned to Kumiko. "What about yours, Kumi? I shall order for it—what would you like to wear tonight?"

"Your choice, Nino," said Kumiko.

Nino only nodded, and hastily walked of the room, ecstatic to see her own wardrobe and choose through the queen's own. Kumiko smiled at that thought—Nino has always been excited to do these things. The sage never had much of a childhood, growing up with an awful "mother" and surrounded by men. She had never experienced the joy of looking through clothes and being able to have what she wanted, so thus, at certain tasks, she was eager and excited.

"Call for an absolutely attractive and sheer nightshift for Kumiko, too, for her evening with His Majesty!" Anko called after Nino with a laugh.

Kumiko went over the spy and elbowed her, and then she shouted after Nino, "Call for a gown for Anko, too! In a shocking red color, Nino!"

Kumiko laughed, and it was Anko's turn to be annoyed. "I'm not getting in a gown. It's stuff for those stiff, barely-know-anything nobles. It suits me ill. Besides, I can't fight in it. I refuse to wear anything that will possibly hinder me from flinging a man to the floor and knifing him quick."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

When Nino was gone, only Anko was left with Kumiko, and the spy took to lethargically lying down one of Kumiko's couches, her boots dangling from the armrest, as she pondered on Kumiko's dilemma in a darker sense. To tease Kumiko was one thing and was a friendly sport—to think of the events in a darker overture was a requirement of her profession.

To ask a woman to disrobe was a high form of rudeness, in Anko's opinion. She certainly would not take that order from anyone, even if it were from a king, unless of course there was an ulterior benefit for her in a grander scheme of things. But in this case, there was no ulterior benefit, so Kumiko had leave to feel frustrated, even if she were a married woman. No one should simply impose such things on a woman, and that is what every woman believed. It certainly could be read as a show of superiority, an assertion of control on Zephiel's part. But that was _the truth_—he was the man, he was king, he had control over anyone. And if he simply forced her own wife into bed, no one can fault him in it.

Anko felt her eyebrows knot. _Zephiel? Force Kumiko? Is that what is going to happen now? Has he reached the depths of insanity? He would never do that._ It goes beyond what his mother taught him and goes beyond how he manners towards women. Asking her to disrobe is one thing, forcing her to bed is another. His request is most possibly only a display of superiority. It doesn't necessarily mean that he shall further impose things on her. He probably only meant to show her that he still had control over her. _And, gods, Kumiko needs that reality check sometimes._ The worst insults on Zephiel's reign are hardly about him, but about Kumiko. He let her run too freely and barely forces any responsibility on her. And the fact that he cannot even get his wife to sleep with him and give him children makes the insults worse, making him out to be a weak king who cannot even control his own wife. _Although weak is the last word you ever associate with Zephiel._

_And, Kumiko? What was her excuse? Which side should I take on in this matter?_

Anko knew Kumiko ever since Kumiko was ten—Kumiko's blood father had then just died, murdered by the Black Fang, and Kumiko, the heiress, escaped without any plans of ever coming back. She had discarded of her real name—_Genevieve Regrada_—and had taken to calling herself "_Kumiko_". From that time Anko first met her, Kumiko's dislike for male nobles was evident, and being trained to be a tactician—an occupation dominated by men—only made Kumiko's dislike for them worse.

"So," Anko said, to Kumiko, "I had the feeling that your complaint earlier was supposed to be valid and serious, but, my apologies, I couldn't help but laugh."

Kumiko took on a somber mood as she sat down on her canopied bed, facing Anko, who was now reclining on her red couch like she owned it. "I understand you, though," Anko said. "I know what you're going through. You're one of my closest friends. I'd be a fool to not understand. We—you, me, Nerisa, and Xarin—have always grown up in a man's world, haven't we? It generally is a man's world out there—men call the shots, and we women are worth not much, and in this courtiers' world, we are not worth anything at all and will not be able to speak our minds. Our worth is only if we look good. They say we've made it far only if we get to marry rich or powerful men."

Kumiko gave some sort of small laughter, and said, "You could not have said anything truer, Anko."

Anko continued. "And being trained to be tacticians—and as for me and Xarin, spies—it's still a man's world and if they see you are a woman, well, you have so much more to prove and you are belittled. Men suck. They get all the privileges."

Kumiko laughed at her friend's ranting, and she thought, _when was the last time Anko and I ever talked like this? Just as friends, without any pressures at all?_

"As I was saying," Anko continued, "yes, we all grew up in environments where men and women were not equal, and it has its effects on all of us. I grew up thinking no man can match me. Nerisa would only use men—she hasn't actually 'loved' anyone. And Xarin—just look at her. If a man tries to make advances on her or even just compliment her, she would just speak to kill the conversation and be so _cold_. And you... you…I never thought you would have ended up being _afraid_."

_Afraid?_ Kumiko thought. What led Anko to conclude that she was afraid? "I'm not afraid of men," Kumiko said, a bit too defensively.

"I wasn't through speaking. You're not afraid of men but you're afraid to trust yourself to one. Completely. Or is this just Zephiel? Whatever is wrong with Zephiel that you're afraid to trust him?"

The mere mention of his name made the corners of Kumiko's mouth pull dangerously down into a frown. "Everything is wrong with Zephiel!" Kumiko said, frustrated. "Him, and his insane ideas for war and—"

"Two years ago, there was no war, and Zephiel was the perfect man," Anko snapped at Kumiko. "So why? What's the problem? Is it because he's so much taller than you? So much bigger? So much stronger, and he can practically break your neck in half if he wanted to?"

"Anko, it's not—"

"Do you think he'll be violent? Do you think he'll _hurt_ you?" Anko continued, starting to look more and more concerned with each word she said. Kumiko only looked at her, half-puzzled, half-_ashamed_. "It doesn't seem like it, but if that is your worry, Zephiel is also capable of restraint. No woman can ever complain about him." _Apart from you, of course. You're the only one who's ever complained. "_Zephiel has been taught to be a gentleman, thank his mother, gods bless her soul. What makes you think he will be different to you?"

_Because he's a noble of Bern, and all of them are the same. He might do just like what my bastard blood father did to my helpless mother. I'm scared he might just do the same._

"...Is it because of Regrada?" Anko suddenly asked, as if reading Kumiko's mind.

Kumiko felt herself flinch at the mere mention of _him._ He was the last person she ever wanted to remember. She still saw him, though—in the mirror. When she would look at herself in the mirror, more often than not she failed to acknowledge the beauty that she was faced with only because she saw in her face the face of a man she had sworn to forget and is long dead but still somehow makes himself felt. _I had sworn that I would never ever have to see his face again. But I still do—in my own face, I am a shadow of him._

"...She still..." Kumiko began, fidgeting with her dress, looking deeply bothered, "...she still had nightmares when it was all through and done and I was born. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to hear her screaming, crying, helpless, sobbing. Her husband was there to comfort her, but all I could do was stare at her. I knew better than to approach her when she was like that. I would cause more harm than help—I would only remind her of him, because we looked so much alike. But she tried her best to love me. She forced herself to love me, even. But I knew she would have felt regret for me all the same. She might have loved me, but she would never have wanted that nightmare to happen to her even if it meant that I would never be born."

And then there was a silence. Anko stared long and hard at Kumiko—this was the longest she had ever bothered to talk about her 'parents'. She loathed her blood father, the marquis of Regrada, and while she holds nothing of that kind for her blood mother, she had not talked much about her, either, or her husband. Anko had never admitted to Kumiko that though tight-lipped she was, the spy knew everything. Ever since they were young, Anko, out of curiosity, had checked on Kumiko's history.

Her background had always been scandalous and harsh—an illegitimate child born of a marquis and one of his Knights, both of whom were married. And it was not even a matter of choice for Kumiko's mother. It was an accident, it was rape, it was forced on her. And when she tried to fight for her right, she and her husband were stripped of knighthood, of land, of title, everything. And then months later she finds out she is pregnant. And then out came Kumiko—a horrifying mirror of the marquis' brown-blonde hair and sapphire eyes.

"...I will never let that happen to me," Kumiko said, breaking the silence. "I don't want to do something and then regret it. I don't want to wake up to nightmares and regret. Zephiel and I married in a hurry. I barely knew who he was and if I felt anything for him. I didn't know if he would take advantage of me. I didn't want to allow him to do it and then regret it later. I don't want the same things happening to me—"

"_You don't want to have children_," Anko blurted out, a realization, getting ahead of Kumiko. "You don't want to give birth to someone and then try so hard to love her but know in your heart that you would rather not have had her. Because _that's_ what your mother felt towards you."

Kumiko felt awkward at Anko's deduction—but admitted that it was, in a way, right, "...I guess..."

Anko felt herself give an inaudible, sarcastic laugh. _Kumiko and Zephiel. What a perfect pair they make. They both know how it feels to be the shadow of their parents. They both suffer up to until now for the mistakes that their parents brought on them. And they don't even notice it, though they are both grown man and woman now. That is one thing they at least have in common._

_And yet, how to maneuver this? Zephiel cannot be kept in check using Kumiko if all she does is fail to see him because of all she sees is her own self. How then can we unravel this war? Grow up, Kumiko. You have to grow up. A little more and Zephiel would be beyond redemption and all we may do is kill him. That would leave a bad taste in my mouth. He was my friend, too, once. I would hate to kill him. I would resort to that only as a last thing._

And so, quickly, Anko decided on what move to make. "And so, such is your bitter past," said Anko. "It doesn't mean Zephiel will be as awful as Regrada. It doesn't mean you will have as much difficulty as your mother had. After all, you will not be forced. You will not be left alone."

"How can you say that so certainly, Anko?" Kumiko asked.

The spy gave a slight shrug and said, "Hey, I was Zephiel's friend. I knew him before I knew you, truth be told. He is just the same, haven't you noticed that? You and him. He acts like this now because of what his father did to him. Bernese nobility tend to be jerks as fathers, right? But I guess that is why the line continues—no one is brave enough to break the chain. Everyone stupidly steps into the trap that their fathers have prepared for them. Even... even Zephiel. I dare say maybe the reason he's turned out like this now is because of Desmond. Because if he had been a little more loved? Maybe this war would not have happened after all. Maybe things would be different."

The spy quickly got up to leave, to leave herself with the last statement, so Kumiko could ponder on it and leave no counter-suggestions. _And then maybe Kumiko would get the hint,_ Anko thought. _Maybe she'd try to unravel Zephiel and figure out why he had started the war after all. Instead of demanding answers from him, she may start to try to actually understand him and conclude on her own. Only she can do it—there is no other woman, she is the only one able to get that close to him. It's timely with the recent lapse in military activity for Kumiko to be able to do this. And then he may not be beyond redemption, after all. We may not have to kill him. And yet, if all this fails, there is no choice. Another King of Bern must die, again thanks to me._

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LYCIA | The Toria-Ostia border

"Hello, there, lady cleric," A man sitting on top of one of the bar stools regarded the pink-haired woman who sat next to him. _Cleric_, he knew. He was positive. He had known her for a while now. And, of course, it was hard not to know the Lady Serra, the once-priestess of Elimine who had renounced her vows "to be able to serve Ostia more". She made sure everyone knew her name. However, "to get rich and acquire a higher standing in Ostia" was far more fitting as her motive, way back then, the spy thought.

"Hello," she murmured a low, dark greeting. Just as he expected, her spirits were low. Even the famed Lady Serra couldn't endure the sight of Araphen in siege, it seems. What has she witnessed? What has she gone through? Only a few had surpassed it. In fact, she was the only one, apart from the Master of Spies' assistant. They were the only ones who got through.

She was wrapped up carefully in her lavish red cloak, the beautiful fabric of it torn up at its edges. The hem of her white dress was all muddied up, and specks of red blood were there, which she carefully tried to hide with her cloak. She pulled on the garment so much, pulling it tighter around herself, as if it were a security blanket, something that kept hidden from others the horrible things she had been through.

"Lady Serra," he called on her attention yet again, calling her by her name, so to say he knew her.

She looked up to him, looking at him straight in his eyes—just as he expected her to. She was audacious enough to stare at anyone, she thought of herself high enough to do it. "And who would _you _be?"

"I work for Ostia," he said. "For your friend, Matthew. We have heard news that you are alive and well and we are genuinely happy that that is so."

She regarded him for a moment with a slightly agape look, recognized him, and then she flipped her long pink hair over her shoulder with the back of her hand. "And what does Matthew want with me? I won't say anything. No information escapes my lips until I am speaking to him directly. You spies are an odd bunch. I could never trust you just like that."

_She was shielded. Jaded. Walled in. _The Ostian spy looked at her and began to pity her. "Nothing. He presses nothing from you. We are only to watch over you. He feels responsible for you. ...We can get you a meal and a room. If you want, we can find a safe place for you to move in—"

With a quick gesture of her hand, Serra called a barmaid to her attention and ordered a drink and a meal. The spy cringed when he heard that she had ordered the house specialties—his purse was not at all that prepared for this—spoilt Lady Serra, what should he expect? House Ostia has given her much. Lord Oswin had taken good care not to spoil her and always reminded her of her place, but now that he was dead, all that he had told her might very well be gone along with him.

And then, surprisingly, she told him, "I don't want to move anywhere. I don't need looking after. All I want is for you to point me in the direction of Lady Lilina. She needs me. She needs _someone_. No doubt, she'll be surrounded by those rowdy men trying hard to protect her but by all means failing and forgetting to treat her like a lady. She needs another woman to stay by her side. Especially... especially with Lady Lyn gone."

Hector's last words, before he was dragged away from them, were still of his family, a warning to the Bernese troops for them to stay away from his daughter and wife. Serra could hear them clearly in her head still. She could also still smell the stink of battle, hear the sounds, feel the heat in the air, and feel the sobs that pain her chest until now.

…_I know you never loved me, and you only married me for status, but I want you to know I loved you. Don't waste your strength on me, Serra, I'm about to die... Get away from this battlefield—hide, and take care of yourself. You're still young... you can get married again..._

She felt it again, that stabbing pain in her heart, as she recalled Oswin's last words. She bit her lip as she tried to stop the tears from coming. _I'm sorry, my lord. I don't want to disobey your wishes. But... but... I want to make sense of your death! Of everyone's deaths! Ostia has not yet fallen. We will rise up again..._

"My lady?" the spy had snapped her to attention, and Serra knew she must have been silent for long.

She shook her head. "It's nothing. Get me a room. I need to rest. I need to pray."

_...I loved you, too. I'm sorry I never told you, Lord Oswin..._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"_Are you still angry at me?"_

_She lift her eyes to look up to him, and she bothered to look puzzled. "Zephiel, what in the world are you talking about?"_

"_Don't bother to look innocent, Kumiko. I know by that little pout on your lips that you are still very much annoyed and just choose to appear by my side out of convenience. When will I be forgiven?"_

"_I'm not angry," she corrected him. "...Just a little. You are king and you have your say on your own country. You can do as you like. I'm sorry for reacting immaturely to it..."_

"_Don't say sorry when you aren't, Kumiko," he said. "I know what you want. I'll see if I can find a way to work around the issue and fix it. Will you forgive me then?"_

"_Zephiel, it is not necessary. You don't have to do anything for me. But it would be much appreciated."_

"...Are you still angry at me?"

Zephiel had entered her dressing room without much of an announcement yet again. He was king—he had the right to walk in on anybody as he saw fit, and apparently that included her even while she was in the middle of being forced into a dress. And, as is usual, he commanded her attendants to leave them, after which he made his inquiry of her being angry. Kumiko was familiar with the routine. There must be some things and some conversations in relationships that apparently tend to repeat themselves.

"That's a stupid question," Kumiko said, with a bit of barb. She was fully dressed now, but she looked long and hard into the mirror of the dressing room vanity, looking at her long, brown-blonde hair. Something had to be done about it. She gathered the strands in her fingers as she said, "I am not angry at you, Zephiel."

_I don't know if I'm truly not angry. But I know I'm too tired to be angry, for now._

He studied her as she proceeded to look in the mirror, in contemplation of what to do with her hair. She twisted the locks, tried to pull them up to a bun, and then tried to braid them. "Forget about it, you look beautiful either way," he remarked, as he walked up to her and pulled her hair from her fingers. And then he regarded her expression again, and said, "I know you're angry when you pout like that."

"Oh, yes!" she finally admitted, as she pulled away from him and nabbed a hairbrush from her vanity and began to furiously brush her hair. But then she thought back on her actions—what was the point of argument? _It is over and done with and I have to try to be kind to him, if that will actually change anything._ "Oh, forget it, Zephiel, let's not start an argument. Nothing ever comes out of these conversations."

"Comfort," he suddenly said, puzzling her, as he shoved her hands away from her head and gathered her locks in his hands. He began to expertly plait her hair—from boyhood, he had learned to fix his sister's hair to humor her, and it had become one of his unheard-of skills. _Must he truly excel at everything, even at a task that usually called for a woman?_

"Comfort?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said, as he quickly worked with her hair. "Repetition can be absolutely boring. But sometimes, it can be a comforting reminder that nothing has changed at all."

_Nothing has changed at all. _What can be comforting about nothing changing at all?

Kumiko took a breath and let the thoughts sink in. When Anko had left, Nino and her attendants had immediately arrived to dress her for dinner. It had been a while since she and Anko actually talked like that—like _friends_. Ever since the war started, it was all prattle about events concerning the war, usually involving a lot of screaming and, until recently, getting slapped by Anko. But their recent conversation leaned on none of that. Anko had openly confronted her about her past—about her father.

She looked up to the mirror and saw him there, the color of his eyes, of his hair, the angles of his face and nose. She looked so much like him—one of her curses. And, maybe—just maybe—she had walked into the trap that he had set for her too, without her knowing it.

_Because of him, I feared every male noble of Bern. Studying briefly in the Military Academy did nothing to help that, either—I had confirmed that most of Bernese male nobility are jerks._

And then, looking at the mirror, her eyes fell on her husband, in the ridiculous activity of fixing her hair. Absolutely ridiculous for the most powerful man on the continent to be caught in such activity. But then, for a moment, Kumiko felt like he was staring at another man in the mirror, too—Zephiel's father. She had never noticed it before, but he had inherited his father's intimidating height and frame and much more. When he was younger, he mirrored his mother more, but as he grew towards manhood, he began to look more like his father—his hair color darkened to his brown-blonde, his eyes were the same color, he even acquired his cheekbones and nose. Does Zephiel look at the mirror, too sometimes, and see another man?

_And if he does that? Did we both just walk into the same traps that someone else has already set up for us?_

_...I liked Zephiel. I respected him._ Who wouldn't feel that way towards a man who practically had no flaw? He had always been careful not to let anyone see that his past had actually bothered him.

_Until now._ Could he have actually started war because of what his father did to him? That's ridiculous—why would anybody start a war for someone long dead? That's a ridiculous question coming from me, of all people. Hadn't I thwarted my name 'Genevieve' and had chosen to become a tactician and dislike nobles in general because of a man long dead, too?

_But if things had been different? But if he, if King Desmond, had loved Zephiel? Surely Zephiel would be a different man. If my father had not been a jerk of a noble? I might have been a different person. Is all these—this war, even!—the fault of someone long dead and gone? A part of a chain that we never bother to break?_

He tied a strip of velvet ribbon into her hair, finishing it. And then he said, almost an afterthought now, "You are attending dinner,"

"Yes," she said. "Of course."

"But you'd rather not and am only doing so out of convenience."

The line sounded familiar, and Kumiko actually found herself reveling in it. _Comforting. There is some comfort after all_. _War aside, nothing has changed. Maybe, at the root of all things, nothing has changed at all. _"Yes," she admitted.

"I barely realize if I have done anything wrong but I am apologizing to you either way. I always apologize," he said, matter-of-factly. "When will you forgive me?"

The lines were from their usual previous arguments, the usual conversation after a disagreement, that he just had to be repeating them out of whim, Kumiko thought. "Oh, Zephiel," she said. "I am not angry at you." And for once it sounded natural and real. Perhaps because, for the first time in a while, _it was._

_I am not angry at you. I am angry at what and where we are because of bastards who no longer exist._

If her statements were not a lie, he must have detected it. He looked genuinely surprised. But then he just chuckled and offered, "If you say so. But is there anything you would like, Kumiko? Even if it is hundreds of those ridiculously expensive perfumes for Etruria or a whole new room full of gowns, I might just try to get it for you."

"Zephiel, you are ridiculous," she said, laughing a little.

He gave a little laughter, too, and soon after left her.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The last time that court had even assembled for dinner and entertainment seemed quite far away, if the courtiers had to think about it. King Zephiel, in the middle of war, was not much for entertainment and merrymaking. The Lady Kumiko could hardly be bothered with the task. It was Princess Guinevere who used to thrive on these events, making them her responsibility and task, and enjoying every bit of it. It was surprising that, without the princess, there was a court dinner at all. Her seat at the impossibly long dining table had been vacant for quite a while now, and more than one courtier wished for the princess' presence.

If the king ever cared that she was missing, he never let on. Certainly he must be aware that the princess' place had long been vacant, and he was noted for his love for his sister, so he must be aware. But he had never said anything about it—no word, no action, no display of frustration. The queen let on more than she thought—she would, in dinners like this, frequently stare at Guinevere's place across her, as if wondering where the princess might be.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

LYCIA | The Toria-Ostia Border

"Soon we arrive in Ostia," said Roy, son of Eliwood of Pherae, as he looked ahead of the path overlooking the distant Castle Ostia, famed far and wide to be impregnable. Ostia's military had mostly consisted of heavily armored Knights and Generals, making their defenses as solid as a rock. Nothing would have prepared Castle Ostia, though, for the way it was taken—division and betrayal among its very defenders. The news, fed to Roy by many a reliable source, was saddening. What had Lord Hector done to call for treachery? He was a just ruler—sometimes rash, but humble always to correct any wrong decisions he might have done. Was power really that blinding that even veterans serving Ostia would be blinded?

Roy regarded the woman walking by his side, silent. "My lady, are you alright?" he asked, sounding concerned.

The woman only kept fidgeting on a blue, spherical jewel hanging on a cord around her neck, thoughts distant, replaying the words of a thread of conversation she had not too long ago.

"_Do you know what the Fire Emblem is used for?" a blue-haired priest of Elimine had asked her when they met._

"_...The Fire Emblem is a key that awakens the sword that was used to slay the mighty Dragons in the past. Or at least, that was what my father told me. But I am unsure about how exactly the Fire Emblem or the sword work. However, the possibility of the Fire Emblem falling into enemy hands seemed to worry my brother...a lot."_

She continued to fidget on the jewel hanging around her neck—the Fire Emblem.

"_So you took the Fire Emblem, hoping to make your brother believe that it fell into enemy hands so that he would stop his conquest?"_

"_Yes...but war broke out anyway."_

"Princess Guinevere, are you well?"

She snapped from her thoughts and regarded Roy with a, "...Yes, Roy. Pardon me—I was just deep in thought."

Roy—much younger than her—proceeded to look at her with concern. He had been most kind to rescue her and take her in, being Bern's Princess and all that. He had genuinely understood her plight and had not taken advantage of her title as Bern's Princess, and had instead, worked with her. He was a rare find among nobles—at least, Guinevere could not name another Bernese noble who matched Roy in kindness.

_Except for my brother._

She had tried, so many times, to stop her brother's paths to war the moment she was aware of it. Even going as far as to steal the Fire Emblem, as far as rebelling on her own country. Surely they have heard of it now, surely Zephiel was aware now that she is travelling with the Lycia Alliance Army. Every bandit or traitor to Lycia was after her in hopes of selling her back to Bern, and of course such news would reach Zephiel. What did her brother think of her, now? She had hoped that her rebellion would rouse him a little, to tell him what he was doing was wrong, but apparently, nothing has changed.

"Is that so? If you're feeling a little faint, then maybe we can stop for a little while—"

"No, Roy, I am fine. Please do not stop for me. We must get to Ostia as soon as we can and rescue your friend," she said, determinedly. "I will have no more of your people being oppressed for what my country has started. Please, let us move along."

But her thoughts were far back and far away, at the halls and rooms of Bern Keep, thinking of the brother she has not seen for so long now. She left him in hopes of making him realize, but it seems that had not worked. Now that she was gone, who would take care of him now? Who would breathe wise counsel into his ear and make him realize?

_Kumiko, please, take care of my brother._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Grand Ballroom

It was a rule in court dinners and the entertainment after that no one was supposed to upstage the queen. She was supposed to be the most powerful and beautiful woman in the country—who had the right to upstage her? But certainly, with the rumors circling that the king and queen were not well with each other these days, every young woman tried hard to look their best and call attention to themselves.

However, they were disappointed since the queen was present—she had arrived by the king's side and holding onto his arm, no less. In her white gown which made her look as beautiful and virginal as the snow, she was beautiful and hard to compare to, and if she and the king had been arguing, it was hardly noticeable. Her royal circlet, however, once a permanent fixture in her hair, was missing, and has caused whispers among the courtiers. However, if it meant anything significant at all was not to be found out immediately, for the king never let go of his wife (as is usual) and it seemed that they were getting along just fine.

Kumiko was much used to it. Two years, and she had stood by his side, pretending to be getting along fine with him when other people could see, even if they were in an argument and she would hate to appear by his side. After all, she thought, keeping the appearance was far easier than having to endure the gossips of the courtiers and their questions that would only lead to intrigue in her life. During those times, she had always appeared by his side, no matter how much she loathed him, and had almost treated him like a shield. She hid behind his robes and evaded conflict and intrigue by keeping the appearance that she did not hate him.

It seemed like a different world. When everyone was watching, she said nothing ill of him, acted no ill of him. Oh, sure, she complained a little when she was behind closed doors to her attendants, but she was still careful with what she said. And when she and Zephiel had to be seen together in an event or such, she treated him with all kindness and respect, and so did he.

An act, she thought. Deception of the masses. We do not get along this much behind closed doors.

...But its was during those times, when they were forced to get along with each other or at least retain the appearance of it, did Kumiko remember that Zephiel had actually once made her happy and content.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0

If anyone could have upstaged the queen, it could only be Anko, the Master of the Spies, who has arrived at the entertainment after dinner, and was surprisingly in a red gown picked out for her from Nino from among the queen's wardrobe. The brilliant red-and-black gown was, of course, retouched by Anko herself using her dagger—cutting out a long slit was all it took for the gown to be distinctly hers. It had worked for her, though—she looked spectacular.

Even Zephiel was surprised at the event. "Is that the gown I gave you? You let Anko cut up the gown I gave you?" Zephiel had whispered to Kumiko as she sat by the side of his throne for the evening. There was no offense taken in his tone, though—only sheer surprise that Anko ever turned up in court dinner, in a gown—no matter how she had 'damaged' said gown.

"Forgive me, Zephiel, I thought I would lend her one but I hadn't the faintest idea she would... turn it into that," Kumiko said, not being able to keep her smile from showing through as she watched the Master of Spies prove why she actually held that title. She was a sight to behold, surrounded by men who now suddenly regarded her as if some new species of a flower, a bloom that they have never seen before. And quite skillfully did she converse with them and exchange pleasantries with them, though Kumiko could tell that she was all annoyed of them and had declined any of their invitations to dance with her or escort her.

"...I have known Anko for as long as I can remember, but I have never seen her act like this," Zephiel remarked, amused, and even Kumiko could hear that in his voice. "Your friend is full of surprises. Then again, what would you expect from the best spy in the land?"

But then Kumiko lit up when a dangerous—but mayhaps in the good way—thought entered her mind. "If I may suggest, Your Majesty? If you would summon the Wyvern Knight Heath and dress him as a courtier for the evening? Then we might see Anko acting in more surprising ways."

Zephiel looked geniunely intrigued. "He fancies Anko?"

Kumiko gave a little laugh. "I believe it is the other way around."

And much to Kumiko's own amusement, Zephiel actually laughed, and decided to humor her by whispering to one of his attendants to have Heath summoned and dressed for court.

_...War aside, nothing has changed at all. _Zephiel humored her like always, tried his best to please her and bended to her whims. _I liked him, back them. I knew I could always turn to him. How did he end up differently, now? Did he never really like me at all? Is it true that I was just an object to him? How can than be true when, being in moments like this, I actually feel his effort to please me?_

Minutes later, sitting from their thrones, Kumiko and Zephiel watched as a tall, lean man with deep green hair walked into the ballroom, dressed in a black and gold military suit that fit him well and made him look more dashing than many a young man. Kumiko clapped her hands in delight, struck by how well Heath looked when he was dressed as a courtier, and Zephiel couldn't help but let out a little laugh when he found that Anko, standing in a corner, had seen the entrance of Heath and looked like a starstruck little girl.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

She was tapped lightly on the shoulder, so she turned around to face the man, feeling her heart skip a beat when she saw him. And in seconds she was able to put herself in check. "Well, don't you look well, Sir Heath," she greeted.

He managed a little laugh, particularly at how she called him. _Sir_ Heath. How ironic, since she was of higher rank than him—forever and always was of higher rank than him—and she had always called him and ordered him around as she saw fit. He admitted hearing his name with a 'sir' from her mouth made him feel a little good about himself. "As do you, Lady Anko," he told her.

She gave him a hearty laugh. Anko tended to do that when she heard people calling her a 'lady'—more so, Heath, _of all people,_ to call her a lady! "This is ridiculous. We never talk like this at home or anywhere else."

_The reason we never talk like this is because you're the Master of Spies and I'm just a soldier. You always ranked higher than I ever did. So you called me as you saw fit. You, however, refuse to be treated like your rank. _"Of course we don't. But we should match the setting and these clothes, shouldn't we? What say you to a dance?"

One of Anko's eyebrows sharply raised up in a look of question, or—_offense_, even. At least that was what it looked like to Heath. "Dance with _you_? Sir wyvern knight, do you even know _how_?"

Heath couldn't help but furrow his brows and look back at her with the same critical, calculating look. He liked Anko—she was so easygoing and she treated people, whether they were small people or big people, the same way. She had no regard for nobility or rank or hierarchy—absolutely unlike him. There were times when he looked up to her strength, to how she was so different from him, but there were times—many times—that their difference would make him feel defensive about himself, made him feel... _small_. "I'm not that great, but I do know how," Heath said, already looking defeated despite his reasoning. "I'm a Knight, Anko, I received some training on court graces. I think I can manage..."

She continued to look at him as if he had just said some grand lie. "Sorry to have sounded presumptuous, Heath. Of course you know how. But I'm just sorry—it wouldn't be fair. I've been receiving requests from all those ridiculous men of the court to dance and I've refused them all saying I'd rather not. If I said yes to you, they'd all start pestering me again."

_I'd defend you from all of them. I'd dance with you the entire night so no one else would have a chance. _

_...Way to sound heroic, Heath. But you can't even say it. And Anko's not even saying the truth. She doesn't care about being fair to others at all. Being fair is the last thing she cares about. You're the problem. She doesn't like you the way you..._

_Oh, Heath, this is ridiculous. You're taking a hit to yourself just because she won't dance with you? This is exactly why she probably doesn't like you. You're such a ridiculously weak man... and as usual, you aim too high... again. _Anko began to regard him with a puzzled look, and that was Heath's cue that he was silent too long. "...Alright," he told her, trying to sound level. "If that's what you prefer. I'd just... go... somewhere..."

He started drifting away, trying to wonder where he could possibly go and fit in now—he knew no one from this crowd of courtiers—until he felt a grip on his wrist. He turned around and found that it was Anko, not even glancing at him, only holding to his wrist and pulling him towards the center of the ballroom. When he found his feet too stunned to move, Anko actually turned back to look at him and said, "What are you waiting for, wyvern knight? Let's dance."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Kumiko soon felt tiredness dawn on her as the evening went on. Guinevere was one to stay up late and dance like a maiden with no tomorrow, and normally Kumiko was one such woman, too. She would gossip all evening with Nino or Guinevere or any of her ladies and dance all night long, which would make Zephiel shake his head and cluck his tongue in disapproval of his sister and wife, and yet he would humor them both, dancing with each of them until they were tired and could no longer go on. And when she declares her tiredness, he would leave the ballroom with her and chastise her about her actions in the banquet, but then she would only laugh it off and pull him into a dance then and there in the middle of the hallway. He would groan and roll his eyes, but humor her, and end up later in a fit of laughter himself.

Those were the days. No matter how much Kumiko brought herself to remember the way things were before, it did not change how things were now. She barely danced the first part of the evening, and only out of courtesy, not like she actually felt like it. She was up for chatting with Nino and gossiping with Anko though, and she had flattered Heath of how handsome he looked and jested that he should appear more in court. Heath only laughed this off—this one appearance was only to humor Kumiko, since they had both agreed a long time ago, that he should not be showered any favor just because of Kumiko's (or Anko's) standing. That aside, gossip circulating among the courtiers about the war had kept Kumiko on edge. There was rumor—no, fact—that Bern had pulled out its troops from Lycia. What could this mean? Is Zephiel actually starting to heed advice or is this just some trick? Or is there actually some uncertainty there—is he second-guessing what he is doing now?

And when those thoughts—and Anko's reminders of Zephiel's past—were processed at length by Kumiko's mind, she decided to make a calculated move—she replayed the past all over again. Sans Guinevere, she danced the entire night like a maiden in a village festival, constantly pulling the king to his toes and getting him to escort her. As is usual, he humored her. If Nino or Anko had noticed what she was doing or getting on to, she never knew, but the sage had dragged her husband to the dance floor more than Jaffar would have wanted, and Anko, much to Kumiko's surprise, had kept the entire night lively with dancing and drinking and sharp conversation, escorted by Heath at her arm.

The evening felt normal. Deceivingly so. It seemed like the war never existed at all. And somehow, that was the goal. It was the most subtle call to Zephiel that she, and Nino and Anko, could muster. _Remember this. Remember these evenings. You were happy enough without the war, weren't you? We lived like this. Weren't you happy those times, at all? Why have you changed everything?_

_We were happy, weren't we? If I had known better, I think I would have loved you. I think you would have loved me. But then you had to change everything. Why change everything, Zephiel?_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | The Tactician Guild

Heath struggled to help a half-asleep, heavily drunk Anko back into the Tactician Guild. It was a great ordeal for him, even, to have been able to reach the guild and to have been able to mount Hyperion while part-intoxicated himself as well. The wine they served was strong and barely watered, and he could still taste it in his mouth. Anko herself was blind drunk and unable to keep standing. They say that one of a spy's quality should be high tolerance for wine, to be able to think straight and hold on to logic even in a battle with a drunkard to down the liquor. That was one quality that Anko never had, or so Heath thought. She had seen Anko more than once blind drunk, unaware of her actions at all. It fell on his shoulders, most of the times, to get her back to her home, to her bed.

Hyperion was already content and still in his stable and his comfortable mound of hay while Heath was still climbing down the steps to the underground Tactician Guild, Anko at his side, muttering incorrigible things. This is the second time he had witnessed Anko drunk—the first was when he had visited, a long time ago and while he was still in that campaign with Kumi. He kicked open the Guild door and muttered an "ouch" when he hit his head at the doorpost as he entered, something that frequently happened to him, for the door was just too low for his height. The magic-powered lighting in the Guild stirred and lit up, detecting their presence. He dragged Anko along, careful with her, and eventually led her to her room.

He carefully lay Anko on the soft cushions of that bed, and then stood over her and looked over her form—still in that red dress, and surprisingly, with her working boots underneath. He managed a smile. _Well, what would you expect? It was Anko. She had to break the rules somehow._

And that was when she began to speak. "Heath..."

He glanced up to and said, "Yes?"

Her words had a slur to them and she didn't even bother to open her eyes. "Have I ever told you that you're damn handsome?"

He knelt down by the bed and started to pull off Anko's boots, knowing that she was drunk and muttering nonsense already. "I don't seem to remember that you've told me that," he said.

"And that I hate your hair? You should get it trimmed."

He began to laugh at that. _Oh, Anko, you're ridiculous._ "My hair?"

"Yeeessshh. It's sooo thick. And you're almost hiding your face with it. Too bad, since you're absolutely handsome..."

"Please stop that, Anko, I've had enough people teasing me about my alleged handsome looks," he said, as he set aside her shoes and then looked over her, deciding that she was pretty much fine and it was time to get her to go to sleep. _It'd be ridiculous to sleep in that gown, though_, Heath thought. _I wonder if she can still take it off for herself._ He was about to suggest that, when Anko suddenly turned quiet again, mayhap slipping into a state of sleep.

He sighed, and pulled on the white sheets and began to pull them over her. But then she stirred again, and she rolled onto her stomach and revealed the back of her gown to him—numerous ribbons in a crisscross pattern holding her dress together. _How do women get into this and wear this stuff?_ "Take it off," she chided him. "...Get it off me."

He—against better judgment—decided to oblige her. He sat on the bed and began undoing the back of her dress, pulling each ribbon free. With each one he unmade, the bare of Anko's back started to reveal itself. Tanned skin peeked through, with a few lines of scars. _From what? _Heath found himself thinking. _Fighting? Accident? Torture? _For a second, he had almost dared to touch her skin, touch the scars, and ask her where they came from, but he decided not to.

"All done," he said, as he finished with the ribbons. He was ready to get up and tuck her in and leave, when, much to his surprise, Anko got up and grabbed him by the collar of his suit, and then kissed him.

His mind was too tired to comprehend or put up resistance for a while, until he felt Anko's deft fingers undoing the front of his suit, making quick work of it, so she was able to slip her hand onto his chest. He broke away from her kiss and tried to stop her, his sleepiness suddenly vanishing. "Anko," he said, urgently. "_Anko!_ What are you-?"

She latched her legs onto him and thrust her body towards him, making him lie down on the bed, helpless. She began kissing him on his neck, the bodice of her sleeveless gown dangerously tugging down.

"Anko, you're drunk!" he said, trying to pull away from her and hold her firmly to get her to stop. "I don't want you to do something you'll just regret later… You're not aware of what it is you're doing..."

"...I _know _what I'm doing," she slurred, right into his ear. "Heath. I want you so, so bad…"

He froze at what he heard. _Heath_. His name. She called him by his name. She was not that blind drunk that she could not recognize him. She was not mistaking him for someone else. She did not just have a need that she was willing to satisfy with just anyone. It was him. _Heath. I know you. I know it's you._

…_Maybe she IS aware of what she's doing._

_No… I must be dreaming. Why in the world would Anko ever want me? All these years she has never looked at me as more than a friend. I have treated her to the best I could and yet she never… sometimes it's like she doesn't even see it. But then again, I treat everyone nicely, so how would she see that she was different? This is absurd. I refuse to do this. It goes against what any gentleman would—ah, damn! I want her this bad, too. Who is to say what's right or wrong here?_

She was kissing him lightly on the neck when he asked, "Do you… do you really want this, Anko?"

"Mmm. Yes," she purred. And then her lips reached up to touch his ear again and to whisper. "Heath. Please," she said. "_Please…"_

_How do you say 'no' when she starts to beg like that? _"Do you absolutely, truly want this?" he found himself asking her.

"Yes," she said. "Yes yes yes yes _yes_..."

"…Alright," he said, as he leaned towards her and kissed her.

_Anko, I love you. I hope you at least know that._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_When she dances like that, she reminds me of mother._

She used to dance so gaily during banquets and entertainment, a graceful dancer of Etruria, and more often than not she would go over to his father and drag him to the dance floor to dance with her. King Desmond, still an agreeable man during those days, would go with her, and Zephiel would laugh at how his parents had acted.

That was back then, when Desmond was a different man. But with each year that Zephiel grew older, his father started to loathe him for unknown reason, and view his mother with a suspecting eye. And then Guinevere's mother came, a woman barely of noble blood but astonishing beauty, attracting the King of Bern.

_That was when he forgot all about us. That was when everyone changed._

Everyone around him changed. His father certainly did—his mother more so. Far from the sweet mother he had known, she had become spiteful and distrusting, like a wounded animal ready to spit poison at all who seemed to be an enemy. Suddenly, she was no longer secure in her own home, with her own husband. Suddenly, she was evicted from Bern Keep to the Royal Manse, far to the north. Who would not feel so defensive after that? Who would not view everyone with suspicion?

_I told myself that someday—someday—my own wife would not have to put up with that. She will not have to change because I've made her go through pain. I will never commit the same mistakes he did. Never._

"What are you standing around there and looking at, husband?" Kumiko spoke, and he stirred, snapped from his thoughts, to see her standing before her vanity, pulling her hair from its plaits. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing. Just... I was wondering when you were coming back to share my chambers with me. It feels like an eternity since you have took your belongings and left."

She turned to him and looked contemplative. "I... I don't know, Zephiel. I'll think about it."

"...As you say."

There was silence, and for a second she looked away coyly, almost hesitantly, and Zephiel had long since known that such actions meant that she was preparing to ask him something embarrassing. Emotion had never been one of his stronger suits, and when she started to act like this, he knew a question was coming. He knew a conversation was about to follow. It either made him curious of what the issue was, or it made him evasive and feel on edge.

He cocked his head to the side, as if waiting and telling her, "Well, what is it?"

"I wanted to ask you something," she said. He was standing behind her red couch, and she approached him and sat down. He took note of this and sat down himself, knowing that what was to follow was probably going to be long and tedious. "...I wanted to ask you about your father."

He was visibly taken aback, surprised by her words. "And _why in the world _would you be interested about that? You know everything, Kumiko. You know what he has done to me. And you've proven that you know what I have done to him. What is there besides that? What is it that you want to prove?"

She winced—already he was taking on a hostile tone, making it clear that she did not want the topic broached. "I just want to understand why—"

"I've had enough. I'm tired-I'm taking my leave."

"Zephiel, please—" she quickly held on to his hand before he could even get up and go. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to... I was... please don't leave so soon."

He groaned and resigned himself back to her couch. For a moment, he stared at her, his mind quickly forming theories for what was inspiring those questions and words in his wife. _Odd, it's been an entire day and I've heard nothing about the war yet. All I've been faced with is this meek image of submission. There must be something going on in her head. _Kumiko, to him, had always been an open book. It was one of the traits that worked for her and against her. And so he knew that something has changed. Whether or not she was going to tell him what it was was another story.

_It must be the war? Has she heard of the pull-out of Bernese troops? Does she actually think the war is stopping now? How naive. But then again, that is exactly how she is. But how does my father figure into that?_

"...I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening," she said.

He chuckled a little. "Well, I certainly know that you and your friends did."

She laughed, too. "I hope I didn't embarrass you at all."

"Not at all," he said. "...Only a little."

She smiled and actually inched closer to him, linking her arm with his. "I'm happy, Zephiel."

He noted her display of affection—_such a rare thing for Kumiko to do these days_—and said, "It's good to hear that."

"Don't you feel the same way, Zephiel?"she asked. "You were right about what you said earlier—there's comfort in routine. This evening I remembered how we once were. How we used to laugh and dance together and... we were happy, right? Everything was alright?"

_Happiness? Does such a thing exist in this world? That thing is fleeting—it only exists a moment, and then fades away. You can't seriously think that we were that happy, Kumiko._

"Everything was fine, Zephiel," she said. "Why does everything have to change?"

_So that was it. That is your point, that is your agenda, as is always. _He shrugged as if to shrug her off, and then he said, "I'm not falling into this trap, Kumiko. It's late and I'm tired and you're right—the evening went well. So don't spoil it by acting like a selfish woman who complains when she's not getting one thing she wants—"

"That's not what it's about, Zephiel!" she raised her voice now, pounding her fists on the cushion of her couch. "Why can't you see what I'm saying? I'm not just thinking about me, I'm thinking about _you _as well and all you say is—"

"Me? When ever did you think of me?"

"I'm trying to make you see the stupidity of your decisions and am actually bending to try to understand you and all you ever—"

He got up, and she almost thought that he was going to leave, but then he turned and looked down at her and continued the argument. "I _don't _need your understanding, woman. I never asked for it. All I demand is your obedience."

His statement offended her, and he clearly saw it on her face. "Well, unfortunately for you I'm not a mindless doll that will just blindly follow everything you say! Will we only get along and be happy when we are forced to do it?"

"You were never truly happy, you were only forcing yourself—you just said so."

"Zephiel, I _was _happy! I was content. I couldn't ask for more, and then everything had to change—"

"Goodnight, Kumiko," he said, then bending down to kiss her lightly, and then, turning to leave. The conversation was over. There was no talking to him anymore, no convincing him, no changing his mind.

"Goodnight," she said, almost a whisper, as he left.

_Zephiel, what am I going to do with you? Are you that far gone? Can't you see that you're trying to avoid becoming like your father, but in the end you're just stepping into his trap?_

**End of Chapter.**

Ridiculously long Author's Notes ensues.

A/N:

I've gotten a blog at **.com** – there I shall dump the excessive things I realize and thoughts that I stumble upon writing for FE. If you had a gist of what was going on in my head everyday, The Journey and Bern probably constitute 30% of my everyday thoughts, thinking of plot and characteristics of charries and all that, so I thought all that time thinking should not go to waste and so I created that blog. Visit please? I have an article about how I characterize FE charas like Heath, Matt, and Legault. :3

My FE9/10 Lethe cosplay has debuted last June 18. I had a fun time at the con though no one recognized me, haha. And there I prepared a batch of my best homebaked oatmeal cookies and said that whoever recognizes the character and series I'm cosplaying from shall win it. But no, nothing happened, haha. I think, for FE cosplay, I'll probably do Nino next. :3

**This... is by far one of my most 'pointless' chapters.** I read it and I think _it's sooo sloow. _That's why it took me so long to upload it—it was trying to, in a myriad of ways, get the point of the chapter tackled while keeping it on a good pace. This is the best I can do so far. Series writers are right in a way when they say, "try airing one episode where your main cast is happy and there is no conflict—that episode will NOT sell." Same on chapter-by-chapter fanfics, I think. The lack of tension between Kumi and Zephiel _miffs _me. They, everything else aside, kind of make a good pair but if there is no conflict, there is no story, nothing to keep us on the edge of our seats. Please review on what you think. Chapter a nice break or a boring pause?

It's quite an insightful read if you're thinking past traumas and its effects on personalities, though. Pop literature/media tends to highlight the consequences of past trauma in teenagers and the like, but have you ever wondered what their effect is on older people? By then the reflexes and defense patterns that they have adapted because of abuse almost become a part of themselves that you hardly notice them and you think it's normal and a part of them. Being a victim of abuse too, once, I can pick out traits from my personality or pattern of thinking and say, "If that had never happened to me in the past, I don't think I'd be like this/have this trait". I can relate to Zephiel in that sense, that's why he's one of my favorite characters. This whole fanfic is a self-insert? Heck no. But I believe that when you get a grip of a character's patter of thinking, or can relate to an aspect of his or her life, you can write better. I give a piece of myself to the characters I like, because, really, but more like, a small part, like Anko's cunning or desire to control things, and thus build an entire personality to suit that integral trait. Meh, I'm babbling. Ignore me. This is why I created that blog, so I can dump excessive thoughts there.

**Be warned! Parental Guidance is advised for the next chapter!** XDD Nah, just kidding. I'd never write anything overly explicit. I may write something suggestive and mature-themed, but never EXPLICIT and outright graphic. I don't like putting sensitive images into my readers' heads. (Yeah, sure I did that in the raep scene, but that was because it's intent was to frighten.) Most historical romances have sexual themes, though, and I admit I have a lot of influence reading historical fiction for this, but I don't think that's the core of Bern. Oh, it does exist and it is involved that's why we have the moments wherein Zephiel acts and speaks in manners that would make us say, "Perv! Dislike!" and I include them to keep it real. But I also don't think it's the core of the story, so I fail to make this like the smut-ladden historical romances sitting among my books. No lemon ahead or in any chapters.

**I fear Heath is done OOC. :( Apologies. Actually, I fear everyone is OOC. Some of these are fresh off the keyboard and should have been thought of more, but I have been staring at the content for over a month now, so I feel it was time to upload. At least if there is something wrong, you, my readers, will point it out to me, right?**

**Our latest FE7 character to return hereby returns here: How do you guys like/dislike the Lady Serra?** As for me she's not the usual energetic Serra that we see in FE7, I play out more of her 'other side' so to speak, in her scene here. Like? Dislike?

**EDIT AND ERROR:** I had described the dagger from Matt as silver and gilded with rubies at the hilt. ERROR. It is silver and decorated with SAPPHIRES. I have reread that part in Journey and have just realized it. FACEPALM.

**NOTICE: Timegap between FE7 and 6 is 20 years. I took liberties and reduced it to 15**, if no one has noticed. Thus Kumi would only be around 29-30. Why did I change it? I was uncertain about writing characters around the 40 age border, since I know their thinking would be slightly, or greatly different. HOWEVER, the ages of the FE6 characters will not be reduced (ex, Lugh and Ray are still 13) though the older cast would have magically had 5 years off their age.

**BTW, Whitzwolf and I have just realized we are both Filipino…** and we have been connected though these fics for the longest time… (4 years lol) I check the stats and I see that I get visitors from the Philippines frequently. I dunno if that's ME and not anyone else, but, seriously, I thought I had been giving myself away in the Journey with my references to spiced ginger ale (ahh, I love that, seriosusly guys you should try it) and _calamansi_ (aka Philippine lemon) which is mentioned by Legault once in Journey.

For those who got annoyed at how fast I have progressed Heath and Anko and you keep seeing a lot of them in this chapter, well, it's for a reason. (Because—cough—prettysoonandi'mtalkingrealsoonHeathleaves.)I had wanted to build up the deal with him and Anko before that happens. And yes, no lemon scenes ahead.

I have just realized (right in the wee hours of the morning) that Kumiko is not exactly likable in this fic. I have one reviewer who actually said, "I had to read The Journey to actually like Kumiko". For those who read Journey, Kumiko is only acting completely in character and is doing what she would most likely do in these circumstances, but for those who read Bern before they have ever read Journey, she may come across as a touch too emotional and as a 'weak' character constantly maneuvered by strong personalities like Anko, or Zephiel himself. Or she may come of just as how Zephiel describes her in her worst—selfish and ungrateful. One reviewer puts it well: "Kumiko tends to interpret things wrongly and misunderstand things, rather than actually making wrong decisions from right facts." This especially worries me. This, is in fact, a pattern in Kumiko's personality that I have never noticed before though it's there consistently, even in Journey. See! Even own writers sometimes need outside opinion to evaluate their characters. Now I feel weird. Does this bother you the same way it bothers me? Uhh, I feel weird. Review please. I always try to make use of your insights and criticisms.


	10. Love and Hate

CHAPTER EIGHT | _Love and hate_

"_How do you know that you are ever heard, Miranda?" _

"_What do you mean, my lady?"_

"_Your prayers. Why do you even pray when you can't really tell what will happen? Just like when you pray for rain, sometimes it happens, sometimes it does not. But sometimes you don't pray for it and it rains anyway. Just like when you pray for something to stop, sometimes it doesn't, sometimes it does. But sometimes a person never really asked for it yet her suffering stops. Can you even tell you are being heard?"_

"…_My lady, you raise such fine points. But I think you are prejudiced. Everyone in Bern is in knowledge that you and His Highness have never cared much for faith, or the Church. You have no belief in the gods?"_

"…_I believe in them. I've seen too much to not believe. I've seen inhuman powers, I've seen mythological beings, I've seen too much in the continent, beautiful, inconceivable things—how can I not believe? But I think that to them we are small beings and are hardly to be bothered with. I can't pray to someone who I know doesn't care."_

"…_And how can my lady say that… they don't care?"_

"_Because I've been through much hardship in my life, and there were so many times I begged and pleaded with them for things to change, but they didn't. They never did. And in the end I still fall into the place I never wanted to be in."_

_I didn't want to be a noble. I didn't want him to be my father. I didn't want to be born at someone else's expense. I didn't want to live in a noble's world where girls were just objects. I didn't want to be queen. I didn't want to be here yet be so powerless. I didn't want a husband who starts war._

"_And so… you have no belief at all? You are… angry at the gods?"_

"_Oh, I have belief. That is the stupid part—I still believe. And yet… I feel mad at them at the same time. And yet I… Have you ever felt that way, Miranda? Believing in something—someone—so much, and at the same time, being absolutely angry at him?"_

"_You mean love and hate, milady? Something tells me you are no longer talking about gods."_

"_Yes… I have dreams of him all the time, good and bad. Half the time they are good dreams where he tells me everything is going to be alright and everything is going to stop soon… I just have to wait for it. He tells me, 'Kumiko, please wait, everything is going to be alright'. But the other half of the time I am dreaming nightmares about him, nightmares where he's forcing me to do something I do not want, making me cry… and even once I dreamt that I was so angry at him I couldn't stop slapping him and choking him and kicking him—I practically beat him to the ground, impossible as that may sound—it is a dream, after all."_

"_You must have been so angry at him!"_

"_Yes, I was so, so angry. …But I don't know what to do anymore, what to choose. Half the time I admire him and want to believe in him. Half the time I loathe him and blame him for all my pain. How can you so strongly want to trust someone but so strongly despise him at the same time?"_

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BERN CAPITAL | The Tactician Guild

_I have known her for fifteen years and stayed mostly alone with her for fifteen years and yet I have never seen this happening. I told myself I wouldn't let this happen. Not that I knew it could ever—I knew Anko never saw me in this way. This is probably an accident._

_An accident that I let happen._

Anko stirred and woke up, still tasting last night's wine in her mouth and feeling its hangover in her head. _God, I don't think I drank this much ever since father died. _She moved lethargically in bed and had just realized after that that she was stark naked underneath the covers.

_Oh, yeah. That happened. Last night._

_Damn I have a lot of explaining to do._

"Good morning," a voice interrupted, a greeting from the bedside. She turned towards it and found—_who else_?—Heath, sitting by the bedside, already dressed for the day. His voice gave nothing away—it was neither gay nor sad—he had only stated a plain greeting, nothing else. She had planned to wake up before Heath and leave before he noticed, but there was no waking up before Heath, who in decades had woken up before the sun was high due to the strict discipline Bern had for its soldiers.

_What are you thinking, Heath? _"Good morning," Much to Heath's surprise, Anko sounded unusually natural, as if nothing had just happened the evening before. "Oh, gods. What _hour_ is it, Heath?"

"Almost noon," Heath said, with a small, almost pained smile. He didn't know what to feel. _Why is she being unusually natural? Does this mean good for me or ill? What are we now, after all that has happened last night? _ "His Highness knows you've ended up drunk last night, so he will let you off this day, I think."

Anko rolled on the bed and lay on her back, looking up to the ceiling, thoughts blank.

"...I got you your clothes and brought you some food," Heath offered, almost hesitant, as if he were scared. Anko turned to look and found that, true enough, on the endtable was a bowl of food and a plate of fruits, and her clothes, folded neatly.

_Of course Heath will do this. It's in his nature. He's an honorable gentleman, and there's nothing I can say about that. He'll probably assume responsibility for last night even if it wasn't his fault and I was the one who started it. Or does he actually think this makes us lovers now? Whatever the case… he's going to make me talk about it._

True enough to her thoughts, Heath spoke and said, "Listen, Anko, about last night..."

"I know you didn't want it to happen," Anko snapped before he could finish, tone cold and logical. "It's not like I did, either. It was an accident. Let's just forget it ever happened."

For a second, Heath look surprised—and disappointed, even—at her words. _Accident?_ He turned and looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Anko?"

She had seen all the expressions that crossed his face and tone, but she continued to talk, tone dismissive and cold. "I was drunk. You were, too. We were alone. The bed was there. The inevitable happened. Let's just forget it happened. We can't change it now."

She caught him slightly shaking his head to himself, as if trying to deny that she was saying those words. And then he said, looking down on the floor, as if embarrassed, "I'm sorry about it, I didn't mean to disrespect or take advantage of you in any way at all..."

_Oh, Heath. You've done nothing wrong. You don't need to take responsibility for anything. You are so damn honorable. Can't you see I'm the one to blame?_ "Goodness, Heath," she said, not bothering to get up from her lazy position in bed to even face him decently. "Enough of the self-blame and trying to sound like a gentleman. Just forget about it! We were drunk! It was inevitable. End of story."

There was a silence, and Anko suddenly felt exhausted, having to argue and persuade a man into thinking what she wanted him to, first thing in the morning. It was what she wanted him to do—to just forget about it. But she knew, she herself wouldn't forget it. _I adore you, Heath. You are such a good man. I'm glad enough to have one night with you—I'm glad enough. But I'm no good for you. I just did something selfish and I hope you forgive me for it one day, but I'm not any good for you. It's best you think of me as nothing._

Heath then broke the silence. "You were drunk," he said, "but _I wasn't_."

Anko blinked and felt a small gasp escape from her lips, as she turned and looked at the knight, looking serious now. She understood what his statement implied. "I had the choice," he said. "I could have stopped. But I chose not to. Anko, _I chose not to._"

And for a second, Anko found that she suddenly wanted to cry, understanding what his implications could be. He wanted what happened. _Maybe, just maybe—he wants me the same way I want him. Maybe he looks at me the same way I look at him_. She remembered the feel of being in between his arms, the way he whispered to her, the way he kissed her—his strength and his restraint. How he held her in his arms tight and how he never let her go as she fell asleep in his arms. Even in bed, he was such a gentleman. He could have just did as he pleased with her, since she was sort of drunk after all and wouldn't care much if he just something short of ransacked her body—but he didn't. He bothered to care about her, about what she could be feeling, her emotions, her body.

_Damn it. Why do you have to be so kind? This can't go on! This is too much. I will be your curse, too. This is as far as we go. All I wanted was one night. I'm happy enough with that. I shouldn't have even done it—it was a selfish, selfish desire. This can't go on. For your sake._

"Anko, I—"

She spoke and cut in his words, before he could argue more, before he could hurt more. "Of course you didn't stop me," she said, still sounding so dismissive and arrogant, even. "You're a man. You struck your luck. Good for you. It's the natural choice. It's what any man would do. You don't have to explain."

He sighed, and he began to look frustrated. "...You know I'm not that kind of man..."

"Know? I don't know," she said. "I've known you for fifteen years Heath, but I couldn't care less about your personal life. I never asked. You could have been sleeping with all the barmaids in every tavern in Bern and I really couldn't care less."

And Heath suddenly began to look offended. "...Is that how you actually see me?"

_No. You are such a gentleman. You are one of the few good men in this damn country._ "Not exactly," she said, voice never betraying anything—every word still came out so fluidly, so naturally. "But as I was saying, I really don't know and I couldn't care less. It's your personal life."

She didn't—and couldn't—bother to look at him. She was fidgeting with the bedsheet and Heath was staring at her, studying her every move, trying to figure out if she were acting, if she were lying, or saying the truth. "Just so you know, I'm not like that," he told her.

_Anko, I love you. Please don't push me away. _"…And you weren't exactly _that_ drunk, Anko," he finally said, playing his only card, his only defense. It made him feel horrible inside to have to do it, to have to make her remember it, that she was part-aware, if only because he knew it sounded like he was accusing her of seducing him. _Which you did, technically, but that's not my point. You called my name. You knew it was me. You said you wanted me. _"Anko, you even managed to call my name. You… You told me you wanted me. And I told you that I—"

She turned to him sharply, to look him straight in the eye and say, "And? Your point? I can't understand why we're even arguing about an accident, Heath. Something that never should have happened. Now, forgive me for saying this bluntly, but I have my own point and you're not getting it. I was drunk. You were there with me. I was feeling randy. There was a bed. It's not your fault. So don't go talking and trying to sound responsible and good. I had a need, you were there, I used you. So now, just forget it ever happened. It's not like I actually felt anything for you. So I recognized you and I called your name and you already think it's something else? How absurd."

_-and I told you that I love you. Anko, don't you remember?_

He froze, and just stared at her for what seemed like the longest time. Anko looked away, before she could see the pain in his eyes and before it could break her own heart. He was silent, but then he eventually said, "...Alright." He sounded tired and his voice was trembling. "Alright. I'll do as you say. I'll forget it ever happened. It was really, as you said, absurd of me to think that I was special."

And then he got up and left, without saying goodbye.

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ETRURIA | The Etrurian Palace

He could tell by the way she looked down at her lap with eyes that looked distant that her mind was not on the meeting at hand, and by the visible tension between her brows that she was, for one reason or another, annoyed.

"Cecilia," he quietly called on her attention, and she looked up slightly to him, seated beside her on the long meeting table. "Your eyes wander. Pay attention."

She looked up to him, and her lips opened as if to speak, but then it ended up as a sigh as she only shook her head slightly to him, a small defiance. As the Etrurian Council met and discussed their issues along with them, the Generals of Etruria, her mind was still thinking long and hard of a letter from Lycia. It was in Roy of Pherae's hand, she was sure, and it had Pherae's seal, requesting aid from Etruria in their desperate fight against Bern. She had once been Roy's teacher in battle tactics, only she had been called from his side when she was to be promoted as General.

_And yet, this promotion, this position, means absolutely nothing now. We are pawns of the council, no greater than mercenaries working only for gold._ Cecilia looked at each of the faces of Etrurian nobles that discussed, argued, and put up pretenses of caring from the country, when the truth was that they were maneuvering it for their own goods. The economy, the taxes, the military decisions—all controlled by men that treated everyone else as puppets for their own purposes. _Even the king himself…_

_I loathe them! To keep us from coming to Lycia's aid—what foolishness! What ignorance! Is Etruria to remain silent while Bern ransacks our neighbors? If only I could stand up to this! If only His Majesty could see this, if only…_

She looked up now to the men seated beside her, one Lord Douglas, a fearsome veteran General of Etruria, the other Lord Percival, blonde and fair, every bit looking like a noble of Etruria rather than one of its Generals. Both great men, and for her it was much honor to work with them, but she had been dismayed to find that they had blindly followed the orders of these men that felt that they were kings. _If only they would help me—If only…_

They had lost their shine. Lord Douglas, once a merrier man whose booming laughter echoed all throughout the halls of the Etrurian Palace had turned a notch less merry, now mostly quiet. Lord Percival, once more agreeable, had started to smile less and less and has chosen to harden his senses to see only his orders. What has become of them? Even the king himself. King Mordred, once a wise, benevolent ruler, has become blind and imprisoned in grief, ever since his only son and heir, Prince Mildain, had died…

And then the wolves and snakes came out, shedding their disguises as ministers, advisors and officials. Almost every man or woman of the Etrurian Palace could see who were the kings now, who held power in the country. Courtiers now bowed to these men as they should for a king, while their own king hid and mourned for already over a year. Already past a year, and nothing has changed.

_This makes me sick to my stomach._

She rose from her seat, and all the men at the table turned to her, the only woman, and stared at her. Already she could feel their judgment for her action, their prejudiced stares for her gender or something else entirely. "Pardon me," she said. "I will take my leave. I'm not feeling well, I feel rather faint." And she gave a small bow, and left before anyone could stop her.

There was a little silence after Cecilia took her leave, and then the table was awash with remarks about her, the woman who did not know her place, _whyever did she become a General of Etruria_? Only Douglas and Percival were silent, and then they gave each other a small glance. And a silent message was conveyed, and soon after, Percival took his leave, too.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He found her on the way to the King's Chambers, looking fretful and yet angry at the same time. Percival approached her and said, "You are not really sick, are you, Cecilia?"

"…General Percival," she turned to him, surprised, and then gave him a little nod. Truly, she was not feeling sick at all. _Sick in my soul and conscience though—yes._ "You have left the meeting? Why so?"

"And you are on your way to the king? Why so?" Percival retorted. "Do you think he can see the sense of helping Lycia as of this moment?"

_No. He cannot see. A year ago, he has turned blind._ "I want to try," Cecilia said. "And… he may not see the sense in helping, but I believe you and Lord Douglas do. And yet you do nothing! _Why_?"

"We have not received orders—"

"From the wolves who run Etruria now and quietly devour her? Lord Percival, you must not be so blind! …Or are you?"

He warily looked around for a moment, worried that someone had heard her statements, since those words clearly had a consequence to them should someone have heard them and reported them to the wrong men. "Be careful what you say, Cecilia—"

"I will say what I want to, Lord Percival," she said, calmly and yet with stubbornness and anger seething through her words. "If I would be hanged for my words then so be it. If I had to be demoted from my rank for these words then so be it. I would rather be a nobody than a puppet General."

"I know you are concerned for Roy of Pherae, but do not let this cloud your judgment—"

"_Cloud my judgment?_ I am angry and saddened by the state we are in, but my judgment is intact. I see that our citizens loathe us, that we are pawns, that we would soon be a colony of Bern ourselves if we do nothing to Lycia's aid. The balance of powers would be shattered, it would be Bern against Etruria in the end, and with the way things are going, we have no upper hand. Bringing Lycia to our side would even our chances, and putting it under our protectorate would give us a reason to fight against Bern. I could list off more reasons why this is the wise course of action, aside from the most important one that it is the most moral thing to do. Surely you are aware of all this, Lord Percival!"

He blinked at her, at this stubborn, willful side that she was showing, and knew that she was right. "…Stubborn, aren't you, Cecilia?"

She took a breath to calm herself even more, and only told him, "Yes. When what I think I am about to do is quite positively right, yes. Yes indeed."

"…Then I guess you will have my support," he said, and it came as such as shock to the female General that she gasped in disbelief. "With two Generals of Etruria demanding for action, they cannot refuse."

Cecilia felt herself ease into a small, relieved smile. They cannot refuse indeed. She alone would be overlooked for being young, inexperienced, for being a _woman_. But with Percival? A man who had held his position for long and had quite a number of soldiers loyal to him? A man noble enough and with gold enough? With two of them together, they were unlikely to be unheard.

"Then we have to move, Lord Percival," she told him. "We have to move now, before everything is too late."

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BERN KEEP | The Queen's Audience Room

The afternoon was hot, and the Queen's ladies felt absolutely lethargic as they went about business in the Queen's Audience room, sewing or chatting or reading or writing or painting. The Queen, not much of a seamstress, was seated and discussing beside Nino, who was reading a book on Magic.

"That's a sane conclusion," said Nino, as she lifted her head from the book she was reading to look up at Kumiko for a moment. "I have always told you that. His Majesty is doing things we cannot understand for now—but though we surely can't understand what he plans to achieve, maybe we can understand _why _he is doing it."

"Is it that possible, Nino?" Kumiko asked. "Is it really that possible that Zephiel would act this way just because of grudge on a man long dead? He wasn't like this before. He was such a good little boy, don't you agree? When we have met him before?"

Nino smiled, almost bitterly, to herself. "Pain changes people, Kumiko. If you don't want anyone to change, you should try not to hurt them. Even if they survive the hardship, in the end they come out a different man."

Kumiko fell silent and pondered the thought for a while. How was she still able to doubt what pain could do to people? She changed, too. The environment forced on her by her parents made her who she is, gave her her fears and defenses that controlled him. What man or woman would chose to live in fear and trauma?

_But I chose it, too. I was afraid, too. No—I am still afraid. How can I make Zephiel realize what he's doing when I can't even face my own fears?_

Kumiko sighed, and looked up to Nino. And then a thought entered her mind and she decided to ask the sage, "What about… What about you, Nino? You've been through as much pain as we have been. How did you manage to smile? How did you manage to not turn out a mess?"

Nino looked surprised, and turned towards Kumiko again. It has been long past since she had recalled her childhood—growing up under a "mother" who was not far off—if not worse—than Zephiel's own father. Everyone back then, in their campaign fifteen years ago, thought Nino a strong girl for being able to still be a sunny, cheerful girl despite the horrible woman that was her mother. How was she able to keep a pure, kind heart, never to hold a grudge on anyone or label him an enemy? That beautiful purity in Nino's soul was what got Jaffar, once a cold, soulless assassin, to change.

"Kumiko," Nino said, sounding motherly now, "Sonia was a horrible woman, and she treated me bad even though all I wanted was to gain her affection. His Majesty was the same with his father. But the difference is… _I got lucky_. Sonia wasn't my _real_ mother. I realized I have been trying to gain the affection of a woman who isn't who I thought she was, that she deserved none of it. I had the assurance that my real parents would have never been that horrible to me and had loved me so, so much. I had a way out. His Majesty _doesn't."_

Kumiko looked thoughtful, and then she nodded slowly. Though she still believed Nino's innate kindness had much to do with it, she was right—she had a way out. No matter how much Zephiel must have wanted to not care for his father, to forget him and disregard him, he _could not_.

_Just how I can't forget my own father, either, no matter how hard I try._

"And do you…" Nino suddenly continued, "…do you think I'm left unscathed? …You know I'm happy, Kumi, I truly am! But when I settled with Jaffar and when we had the twins, all I was afraid of was that I would end up as horrible as Sonia. Though I knew that it wasn't possible—I would never hate my own children—the thought clawed on me sometimes. But I never knew how to be a mother. All I had was Sonia's example. And when Jaffar went missing, it almost drove me mad when I realize that I had chosen to look for him and left my boys alone—and thus, I ended up just like her. Choosing her devotion to Nergal rather than her daughter."

"Nino, that's an unfair comparison!" said Kumiko, immediately wrapping a comforting shoulder around the sage. "You know you and Sonia are absolutely different. You're _so much_ different. And we'll try to find your boys. We've never stopped, haven't we? You're not like her, Nino. I know you love your boys too much."

"But I loved Jaffar more. I should have been fair. Ray and Lugh must hate me, too, now. I don't deserve to be—"

Nino never finished, already ending up in silent sobs. Kumiko, concerned, just embraced her and whispered reassurances to her.

"…Of course I know that," Nino said. "Of course I know I'm different. And I'm trying my best. But sometimes… you just can't help but think… and be afraid."

_So this is what pain does to people. Once they've changed, once they've been hurt and afraid, they never turn back the same. The fear never leaves them._

The Queen's ladies stirred and murmured and giggled coyly when Jaffar entered, with Heath in tow. As is usual, the visit of an eligible and handsome bachelor made the attendants spring to life and get involved in animated chat and conversation. Kumiko laughed herself, noticing the change. Heath, however, as is usual too, barely noticed, and if he did—because it just happened so often that he must be blind to not notice—he must not care at all. In fact, he looked too tired, and worried even, to care.

He was dressed in black shirt and trousers, the usual clothing the wyvern riders had underneath their armor. Kumiko took note of this because usually, as it was in the past weeks, soldiers and knights were dressed in their armor almost every second of the hour, as if ready to strike and leave at any instance. That Heath was dressed down spelt many things. _A silence in military activity. But why?_

"I want to know that I am not going to be killed," the wyvern knight said, the clothes that were lent to him last night in his hands. Kumiko only looked at him, puzzled, and to explain, Heath pulled out the white tailored shirt that went underneath the king's suit, and held it up to her. Kumiko couldn't help but gasp as she saw that it was torn by the neckline.

So that explained why he looked grave. "What happened?" Kumiko asked, worried. Usually Heath was careful of his possessions, he took great care of what he had—more so if it was only lent to him. If this happened, mayhap he got into an accident of some sort.

"…I don't even understand what happened myself," said Heath, looking at the shirt. The truth was, in his and Anko's haste to get the article of clothing off him, it accidentally ripped, something that he and Anko had just laughed off the evening before. But clearly today there was no laughing. "…A cat clawed at me… or something," Heath suggested. "…Please tell me His Majesty would not have me killed for this."

Kumiko barely understood what the cat comment meant. She just shrugged and decided to laugh everything off. "Hardly, Heath. A shirt isn't worth the life of a good knight like you. Don't be so worried."

"I'm not a k_night, _my lady. I'm just a _soldier_."

Kumiko couldn't help but make a face—offended—at Heath's correction. "What's the difference? You know you are knighted just the same." Though he was the only knight with no land, no pension, no leadership role… no _rank_. Oh, he was officially a Wyvern Knight of Bern, but without the usual favors that came with it, everyone else regarded him as an ordinary soldier. It was, partly, Heath's fault himself. _I'm just able to come back here because of you and Anko. Otherwise, I would still be a fugitive. If I'm knighted, thank you, but I don't need everything else that comes with it. I'm happy just to be able to fight again. _

_You lie, Heath. I know you dislike it, but you think of keeping appearances more. You're just another person that suffers—and could suffer more—because of me, _Kumiko thought. _If I weren't queen at all, you could have been General, Heath._

Heath noted Kumiko's offended tone and appearance, so he sighed and decided to get his thoughts straight. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I'm not supposed to _complain _about something I _asked for_ in the first place, am I? Apologies. …I've had a bad day."

Kumiko looked genuinely concerned at Heath as she rose and took the garment off his hands and handed it to one of her attendants for sewing. "Why not sit down and talk with us?" Kumiko offered, gesturing to one of the couches in the room. Heath obliged and took a seat. "…Why is your day bad so far?"

Heath just laughed aloud, but there was a tinge of bitterness to it. "I don't think you'd understand, my lady. To put it simply… have you ever woken up thinking ahead of you was going to be the best day of your life but it ends up that it does not meet your expectation? And it ends up being the total opposite, the worst day of your life?"

Kumiko raised a puzzled brow, but then Nino, standing in a corner, listening in, spoke up. "Then that is good news. It means the best day of your life is yet to come since it has not come yet. The worst can no longer recur as it is already over and done with. So one day you would wake up and not expect anything but end up being delighted out of your wits of how the day turned out."

Heath laughed, heartily this time, and Kumiko smiled. "You are always one to sound positive, lady Nino," Heath said. "You never change, do you?"

It was Nino's turn to laugh, and Jaffar, standing beside his wife and lacing an arm around her waist said, "She never has changed, which I am eternally glad of."

Kumiko nodded. "If only everyone didn't have to change."

Heath, still laughing, spoke to correct that. "There are _some _people that never change that you just wish _would _change."

"It seems to me that this is one of those conversations wherein we are actually referring to _someone_ but choose not to speak a name," Nino pointed out, looking intrigued. "I am dying to know who you are referring to, Sir Heath."

Heath laughed heartily—or was that _nervously_?—as he thought of how keen Nino had grown over the years. The court of Bern Keep has sharpened her in its own way, and Nino was as powerful as many a man in Bern Keep, trailed by many a man and woman in hopes that she will notice them and give them her favor and speak to the Queen for their behalf. But Nino, and her husband, has learned to see through the requests, the lies, and was a clever woman of the court in her own way.

Just as Heath was about to speak a response, a witty comeback to the sage, the doors of the Queen's Audience room opened, and someone had entered without so much an announcement or warning.

_And there you have your answer, Nino_. And there was, Heath thought, ironically, the wittiest answer to Nino's statements without a single word being spoken.

"I bid everyone good day, especially my lady Queen," Anko quickly greeted as she walked into the audience room, causing the ladies to gasp—as is usual—about her absolute lack of protocol. If there was a person who walked in on anyone without announcement, it could only be either Anko, or the king. Yet most of the time, it was the Master of Spies.

Heath visibly tensed, and Kumiko put on a slight frown. "Anko, you could _at least_ be announced before you enter. …Good day to you, too. How is your hangover? His Majesty questioned your absence this morning."

The spy stopped a few feet from Kumiko's place and gave her the most hurried bow, and then the words spilled from her mouth. "There was no hangover, my lady, the wine was just right and spectacular. My absence was simply due to lack of sleep—I was too busy _tossing and turning_ last night and I pray His Majesty forgive me of that sin this once, and I hope my lady will forgive me for being direct in stating the purpose of my visit—may I borrow sir-wyvern-knight-looking-distant-over-there? "

Almost everyone blinked at Anko, trying to make sense of the quick words that she had just uttered, save for Heath, who had caught on her words clear as day and as a result sat there looking shocked, mouth agape, expression clearly saying, "Me?"

"…S-Sure," was all that Kumiko could say, stunned, trying to make heads or tails of Anko's direct request. "I… I _implore_ Sir Heath to assist you with whatever concern you may have."

"My sincerest thanks." Anko gave Kumiko a quick bow again, and then she turned to Heath, and made a quick gesture of throwing her head back, as if saying, _I'll be waiting outside. _And the Master of Spies turned around and left, as quickly as she came.

But Heath stayed in the room for a second more, sitting still, eyebrows knotted, expression between puzzled and frustrated. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Kumiko remarked.

The wyvern knight shook his head, as if to snap himself from his thoughts, and finally got up. _I'm just trying to figure out if my day is going to get worse or finally take a turn for the better._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Looks like something happened when we were not looking," Nino remarked, with a little knowing smile.

Kumiko just looked over at her friend, and let out a little laugh. "I have been thinking of that for almost fifteen years now. Fifteen years, I have left the two of them mostly alone in the Guild. I've lost a few hours of sleep in my life thinking what in the world was going on with them."

"I now doubt Lady Anko's absence this morning was due to the hangover, after all," Nino said, putting aside her tomes to scoot over closer to Kumiko's side for a move private gossip. "It is, as she said, due to _lack of sleep."_

"Oh, no!" Kumiko gasped a little, for the first time understanding Nino's suggestions. "Are they romantically—physically—involved without our knowledge? Good heavens, no. If so, why didn't Heath just tell? Why did he look like the most troubled man alive when he walked in here? If you suggest that, Nino, both of them must be mad with joy, and Heath didn't miss the morning military assembly, did he?"

Jaffar, who could not believe that he was involving himself in this discussion—it was not Nino or Kumiko's fault that he had such trained ears that he could make out their whispers—said, "I believed he had missed it."

Nino gave Jaffar a little smile, knowing that one way or another there was no talk silent enough to be unheard by her husband. She then turned back to the queen, saying, "And there you have your answer, Kumi."

"…Very well, I'll consider it quite a possibility," Kumiko said, "but assumptions are that and will remain that way until they are proven correct. I'll ask Anko as soon as I can."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

ETRURIA | The Aquelian Capital

Patience was one thing mages had learned to develop over the years. It does not take overnight to learn a spell—unlike how you can pick up a sword or lance or axe for the first time and kill someone with it in an instant. But for practitioners of Magic, it takes hours of devotion and practice and communing with the spirits to even make sense of the chants in tomes, to be able to memorize them and clearly and quickly run them in the back of your head as an invitation to the forces of magic to aid you. Patience had become a lesson to every mage. However, the sage seated at the military mess hall of in the castle town of Aquelia found that he was running out of the very thing.

He flipped the pages of his spell book and tapped his feet on the floor, signs of impatience. The plate of food that was in front of his table has been completely untouched and ignored. It had been a while since he had returned to Aquelia, or to anywhere near the castle. Or to Etruria, for the matter. It seems Etrurians have had an alarming downfall in hospitality since he had last visited. He had been treated dreadfully since he had arrived. Despite his connections into the Etrurian nobility, his paths have been barred by the Etrurian Royal Guards, unallowed to finish the reason for his visit, to meet anyone worthy of meeting. His letter of claimance and introduction have been declared as fraud, and he had not been allowed a foot into the Etrurian Castle.

_Times are horrible. Is it because of the war? All I've gathered are bits and pieces from gossip and secondhand news and I've no real insight on it. What is going on with Etruria? What is going on with the world?_

He looked out the windows of the mess hall, the view outside of the military grounds of the castle town. Later he would consider it divine luck that he did so. The minute he looked out, the object of his visit came into view. Soldiers and Knights poured out from their barracks and lined up into their ranks, headed by their Generals. Paladins and cavaliers came in their blinding armors and dashing steeds, so did troubadours and valkyries at the ready with their staves and tomes. Their General, hair a bright sage green in the sunlight, was undoubtedly who he was looking for. He quickly got on his feet and made a dash outside, his purple robes whipping about him as he ran.

He ran, and slowed down to a more dignified walk as he drew closer to the soldiers, to the Generals shouting instructions to the troops. One of those Generals was the famed Lord Percival—handsome as well as skilled, the envy of many. The other was Lady Cecilia—green haired and womanly, but also a deadly mage. It was her that he sought. "Lady Cecilia."

Cecilia, in mid-sentence, was surprised at the mention of her name from a familiar voice. She was atop her steed, and she pulled on its reins so she might turn around and see who called her. For a moment, she almost failed to recognize the deep purple hair, long enough now that he kept it tied away from his face, and the robes of purple, gold and silver that he dressed himself in. The colors that their mentor, the lord of Reglay, dressed himself with as well. "Lord Erk!" she exclaimed. "What brings you here?"

He walked towards her, and in courtesy, Cecilia jumped off her horse, and Erk wrinkled his nose a bit once he had realized that the woman was—still—taller than him. Certainly, many years ago, he had stopped growing. "I come under Lord Pent's orders, as usual, Cecilia," he told her. "This sudden news of war breaks out and meetings of the landlords are called, in the middle of our research in the Nabata Desert. With Lord Pent too far away to represent, I came in his stead, but was refused to see anyone and was kept here."

Cecilia tried to make sense of Erk's retelling—why would anyone bar him from meeting with the other lords of Etruria? But then again, the Lord Pent of Reglay certainly had not been that popular with the other lords—an absolutely dashing and skilled man, absolutely dedicated in his research of the magics, he was. But he was ill-famed for being either absent on his territory or the Etrurian Palace for long periods of time, it was easy to think that he simply didn't exist or had died in some research. But when he was present, he swayed and charmed people to his side, his persuasive ways had always won over people. In fact, it was thanks to his persuasion that Cecilia, a woman, was even named General. Many people couldn't help but love him for his charisma and open-minded thinking. Many people, also, couldn't help but hate him thanks to the very same things people loved him for. The other lords of Etruria belonged in the latter category. Something that Lord Pent would say, even through his protégé Erk, would have to be heard by anyone, up to the king—and the puppeteer lords of Etruria would not want that now.

"Does Lord Pent deliver an urgent message?" Cecilia asked.

"Nothing as of now. He asks that I take a look into matters first. I've not been in Reglay, or Etruria, in a long while. News does not get quickly to Nabata, I'm afraid. We've not been informed, and once we heard of something, I had to quickly see the matter for myself. What is going on, Lady Cecilia?"

Cecilia looked down at Erk warily. She had wanted to vent out her frustrations out loud, tell of the accursed puppeteer lords of Etruria, and the puppet king that sat on the throne. But such words cannot be said out loud, not in front of the soldiers and every other ear that might be listening.

Percival, still on top of his steed, trotted towards the two mages. "Lord Erk, of Reglay, am I correct?" Percival said, some sort of greeting to Erk. Erk simply nodded. "We would love to hear what you have to say later, but for now we are on the way to give important reinforcement to Lycia."

Erk looked puzzled for a while, but quickly he understood the situation. "Then I would come with you," he said. "I have to see this war for myself. Let me come with you."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Military Barracks

"_Don't you feel sick to your stomach? Using Kumiko like this? …Using even me?"_

"_Goodness! Heath, are you angry about that? Why?"_

"_Because no one likes being treated like an item, Anko. No matter what pleasure it gives otherwise. In the end, you just feel stupid, and no one ever likes to feel that way. No matter what the bargain is. And you have always used me, Anko. Running me off to one or two or three or a dozen errands everyday. Asking me about the military and the movements and looking into military files that I would be hanged for should anyone know I touched them. Goodness, I have all the credentials of a spy already! But I didn't care. Do you understand why? Because what matters to me is what I feel about you and I love you—"_

"_Sshh! Don't say it! Gods' sake, don't say it. You do not love me, you never did. You don't know what you're saying."_

"_Why not? Because it will be dangerous? Because of your profession? I know all that, Anko, and yet I still—"_

"_Because you are nobody. Ever since the day I was born, I had ranked higher than you ever had, and that will never change."_

Heath fumed, and he could feel all the muscles of his arms and body tense at the feeling, as he walked into one of the barracks in the military garrisons of Bern Keep, where certain Knights and soldiers of the Royal Guard rested and met. In his part of the garrison, Knights of high rank called to service in the war were abound, and in a room not too far, the Three Wyvern Generals of Bern had their meetings, within his reach.

_And yet I am still nobody._

He found himself walking into the mess hall, and upon entering by the doorway, he found many Knights in service—Knights with noble blood that have been trained since birth, men and women with the wealth of not only money, but connections and opportunities. Even the Knights of common birth could have only gone this far had not a noble man seen him and have helped him rise, even they had wealth of connections through that.

_And yet I am still nobody. I earn my gold, much more than many common soldiers of Bern, but to what use will I put it? I have no land of my own entitled to me that I can invest on or build a house on. A house is hardly even necessary, I have the Tactician Guild to take shelter in. I am unmarried, I don't have children, thus I don't need a house, I don't need a household with servants. I don't even really need the gold._

And perhaps that was why, for almost fifteen years, he had never been much bothered by the fact that he was Knight of Bern and yet he had no land or earned less than his Knight peers. He had never been much bothered by the fact that Kumiko and Anko's high ranks have deterred him from wanting promotion. He was doing what he loved, what he had aspired to do all his life, and he was proud of it. _And yet now… now I…_

He walked across the mess hall, feeling his feet drag him to the pottage, and he scooped some out for himself. Again, his feet then dragged him to a table, and he sat and ate and thought of his situation dimly.

_Anko, you had always made me feel small. Without even shoving it in my face, you have always made me feel small. And now that you have, I feel smaller than a mouse, and it's like everything I was happy with and was content with now disturbs me._

"Sir Heath. May we sit with you?"

He looked up and saw two of his peers, Gale and Miledy, looking down at him with their own food in their hands. Heath gave them a small nod of approval, but not before feeling a tinge of envy upon seeing the two lovers, sticking by each other's side.

They sat before him and began to eat their meals, as Heath looked at each of them and found their auras dim, like his. They had good reason. Gale, whose long, dark hair had much reminded Heath of an old friend, Legault, had not too long ago been demoted from being one of the Three Wyvern Generals of Bern. Gale had accepted the demotion most gracefully, although the sight of General Narshen, who had pointed out to Gale's lack of Bernese blood just to overthrow him and replace him, turns Gale's mood dark. Narshen was a well-known lout, it is apparent to everyone that Gale is the better man, if not for his lack of actual Bernese citizenship. But Narshen was just as skilled as Gale in combat—appallingly so—that the position was eventually given to him.

Miledy, Gale's lover, and one of the few—if not the only—female Wyvern Knight, had much to feel down for as well. She was the leader of Princess Guinevere's royal defenders, and with the Princess' disappearance, she receives all the blame. Day in and day out, she was run ragged and pressured to find the Princess, or else risk her life at the King's displeasure at each failed search. As if the pressure of being a woman among the Knights of Bern was not enough.

For all their troubles and worries, she held a hand out over to Gale's hand over the dining table and held it, as if to say that things were going to get better.

Heath, much as he tried to stop it, couldn't help but feel bitter, looking at the two lovers who, despite their troubles, had everything going for them. Despite everything, Gale and Miledy were still high in favor with the king and with General Murdock. They must have been over a decade younger than him, and yet they ranked higher than he did, earned more than he did, was esteemed more than he was. They had each other to turn to should all else fail. Should all else fail, they were young and still had many years ahead to find a different route. Suddenly, Heath started to feel his age.

Heath gave a little groan. _This isn't fair. I've not right to begrudge them for anything. They have always respected me and treated me well. _Gale himself admitted that he looked up to Heath and had said that if anyone would have been fitting to be a Wyvern General, it was Heath. He had experience and skills that none of them had—far surpassing Narshen—that would serve them great as General. But Narshen, filthy lout, took down his worth by saying Heath did not deserve the position at all, his favor only comes with being friends with the Queen. Narshen manipulated information about Heath's past, exposing that he was a once a fugitive who had turned traitor to the country. All he ever earned was only due to friendship with the Queen. In the end, Heath refused to vie for the position.

_I should have grabbed on to that. I AM a nobody. I absolutely lack ambition._

_Ambition_. Everything that Anko had. She was always looking at the bigger picture, thinking of what serves her and everyone best, always present when there was an opportunity to be manipulated or profited from. In a way, she was more of a monarch than Kumiko was—when Anko wanted something, she grabbed onto it, and everyone had to bend to her will or else risk their safety. _No wonder I am nothing to her. I'm a pushover, something she can just pick up and throw away._

And then a small, risky thought formed in his head, and it poured out of his lips, and Gale and Miledy looked at him as if he was absurd for it. "I am going to resign," he said, all of a sudden. "I have nothing to gain by staying and nothing to lose by quitting. I'm going to leave."

_I am going to leave, where no king or queen or rival can block my opportunities. I'll make my own gold and find my own path and carve my own ambition._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

LYCIA | Castle Ostia

After a long battle dealing with Bern soldiers and Ostian traitors, Roy of Pherae received confirmations that Castle Ostia was indeed already secured, the enemies killed or surrendered or fled. Roy felt himself give a sigh of relief, and yet his heart remained heavy at the thought that somehow, this wasn't over yet—only the beginning. It was odd enough that Bern has yet to get back at them for taking back Araphen, but Roy figured it was only a matter of time. The news of the recapture of Ostia would soon reach Bern and they would have to strike back. _So this is war,_ Roy thought. _It seems to go on without end. Somehow, I am glad my father is not fighting in this. I can only imagine how this would exhaust him._

Roy turned around and found Lilina, one other person that he would hate to see caught up in a war. He already felt horrible that she had been taken hostage in her own castle, but news of Lord Hector's death—and fighting—must take an unbelievably heavy toll on her, too. Lady Serra hovered around her and was quick to see to her needs as soon as she was able to, like a loyal attendant. So fated it was that Lilina, heiress to Ostia, was to be attended by the wife of her father's most loyal vassal. _But that vassal is dead, and Lord Hector, too._

Roy took a heavy breath, and gathered himself and approached Lilina. Serra sensibly backed away and decided to turn to talk with one of the Ostian spies. "We've finally recaptured the castle, Lilina," Roy told her.

Lilina gave him a tired little smile. "Thank you, Roy," she said. And that she added, sounding relieved, "I'm glad that my father didn't have to go through the trouble."

Roy was suddenly so taken aback that he almost felt like he lost some footing on the even marble floors of Castle Ostia. _I'm glad my father didn't have to go through the trouble_. Did Lilina not know anything? Did Leygance and those betrayers not tell her anything? Was Lady Serra unable to put in a word yet? Or was that Lilina incompetently trying to shrug off her father's death and put up a strong face?

_No. She won't make remarks like that if she knew Lord Hector was dead._

And true enough, Lilina soon asked, "Roy, is my father still in Araphen? I heard that it was a tough battle there, but does it look like it's going take much longer?"

"Lilina...haven't you heard anything?" Roy asked, though he already knew the answer. Lilina's innocence and lack of… grief, in this whole battle, spelt it out. She looked tired, but in a way a child looked tired after a small game—with the knowledge that it was just a game and right after, there was hope, her father would take her in his arms, and it would be over. She had been hopeful. After seeing her mother's death right in front of her, her father was the only hope she had clung onto.

"…What?" was the only word Lilina could say.

Finally, though the words felt hard to say, Roy managed to say it to her. _She has to know the truth. _"Lord Hector...has passed away."

She felt like the floor beneath her sank and shook, and Roy almost hurried to her to embrace her and steady her, but she caught herself and asked another, "…What?"

"I'm sorry..." Roy immediately found himself apologizing, feeling his own grief welling up inside him. "When we arrived at Castle Araphen it was already under Bern's control. Lord Hector was already severely wounded when we arrived. If only we had gotten there faster...maybe I could have helped him…"

Lilina closed her eyes and shook her head a little to herself, her last act of denial towards her father's death. And when she opened her eyes, Roy knew that she had made a decision. "No...it's okay. You don't have to apologize, Roy. I...was prepared for this... I'm a warrior's daughter. I've been taught not to panic in times like this." _I've been taught to stay strong._

He only stared at her, and felt like he was on the brink of tears, willing to pour out the tears that she was unwilling to show. Of course Lilina would act strong. She was the daughter of Lord Hector of Ostia and Lady Lyndis of Caelin, two of the strongest warriors Lycia had seen. It was clear by her appearances—her long, silken hair reminded people of the Lady Lyndis, while its deep blue hue reminded people of Lord Hector. _Strong warriors, both of them. _Surely Lilina would try to emulate them. But _taught_ to be strong? _Maybe_, Roy taught. Maybe Lady Lyndis and Lord Hector had taught her, but Roy had rarely seen it. She was strong in her own way, but with Lilina and her parents, Roy had only seen them showering her with love and protection, it was hard to imagine them teaching her to contain her grief and feel nothing.

"So everyone should have told me... They're too considerate... I'm strong too you know..."

_Strong doesn't necessarily mean being able to hold back the tears. My father taught me that. "_Lilina, you don't have to hold back in front of me."

Lilina looked up to him, her defenses failing, her eyes turning glossy with her tears. "Roy...I... I…" And then she took the final step that lead to Roy's chest, and into his arms. And the tears began to pour.

"It's okay..." Roy said. "I'll be with you. I'll be with you, Lilina."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Sages' Study

Bern Keep's Library had only seen an enormous make-over ever since King Zephiel's reign. He had, single-handedly, brought more books into the castle more than any other man or king in Bern. The Bernese had a reputation for being highly pragmatic and it showed in their library—theories, books, and literature were of little concern to the common Bernese, and their lack of books and had reflected that. Their previous kings' concerns were of warmaking, of how to wield their political power, of how to control their kingdom to best serve their purposes. But King Zephiel—with the influence of her Etrurian mother who loved good literature and poetry—was a different man. He brought in more books many a long-serving servant in the castle had ever seen—books on literature, tactics, culture, theology, history and science. There was a saying that no book was ever banned in Bern Keep in King Zephiel's reign, and he built libraries and gave access to them to all men and women of Bern. This was great news for the young scholars of Bern that now served the King loyally. They saw a king that was as great and brilliant and open-minded as them, no more of those kings that only grasped onto power. _King Zephiel was something else_, they had said. _He is ushering a new age in Bern._

_He is ushering us to our doom, _Kumiko thought, bitterly, as she sat in one of the study rooms of Bern Keep's library, surrounded by volumes about Magic. _War is death and chaos. Whatever the ideals, that never changes._

The study was a little private area in Bern Keep's Library, and Jaffar and Nino were there with Kumiko, her closest confidantes. Anko had been called for and invited, but the spy must have been busy—or no doubt just trying to avoid getting asked questions about a certain Wyvern Knight.

"I can barely get any information," Jaffar said, in whispered talk. The three of them were seated around a table, three voices in conspiratory murmurs, in the pretense of researching about Magic. "As is usual, the military men avoid the courtiers or any servants like the plague. I doubt even Anko knows enough information about this one. His Majesty had always been keen on keeping his spies out of his military affairs."

Nino, flipping through the pages of "Compositional Theory of Anima", said, "His Majesty knows of ways of how to control his men. They should be tight-lipped. Even Heath doesn't spill everything when we talk. But military activity has lessened, that much we know. I hope this is for good?"

Jaffar only shrugged, and Kumiko, sitting slumped on her chair over a book on strategy, looked none too hopeful herself. "We can't tell. It could be good, but it could be nothing more than a tactical retreat. I can't even grasp what is it that is in his head," Kumiko said. "Once, I remembered him telling about a war that would make sense if the ideals behind it are good, that in the end it wants to achieve good anyway. But if he thinks this is for the good, he should be announcing it in his speeches and his soldiers should be talking about it and drawing inspiration from it—but they do not. It's almost as if he's using fear to make them fight on."

"Fear and loyalty," Jaffar pointed out. "Your husband is a brilliant man. Many soldiers would still follow him to the grave, he almost doesn't have to use fear."

"Do you think it's still because of his pent up anger for his father?" Nino asked.

Kumiko shook her head. "If so, this would be taking it excessively too far. If he is living in the shadow of his father, he would try to, in his ways, _never_ end up like him. It is common knowledge to the Bernese that King Desmond is plainly a man with no skill and just grips onto power. There is no righteous bone in his body. There were even rumors that he almost attacked Lycia in his reign for the mere cause of conquest. Zephiel would not try to appear like that. He would try to make his father look horrible and himself look righteous—if my understanding of his hatred for his father is accurate."

"Then what _is _his cause?" Nino asked.

Jaffar looked around the room filled with books and volumes, as if looking for clues there. "There lies our mystery. If His Majesty caught on an idea for this war, and had nursed his idea for a while, he would have left traces. He would have started acting oddly when he stumbled onto this idea. It would have alerted the people closest to him."

"The person closest to him, Jaffar, is gone," Kumiko pointed out. _Before I even knew this war was happening, Guinevere was already gone, trying to stop it._

"Which leaves you, Kumiko," Jaffar replied. "He would have left… a trail. An unguarded moment wherein he says too much without realizing it. An exposure of weakness without knowing it. He stumbled onto the idea and nursed it and it must have left a trail."

Kumiko's lips twitched down at Jaffar's monotone voice and hard expression—she almost had the uneasy feeling that they were talking of an assassination, and not a mere trying-to-understand-him mission. But of course—Jaffar was an assassin. He must have known how to stalk his prey and how to patiently wait until it exposed a weakness. _A trail leading to his death_.

And suddenly, Nino lit up and shut her tome, snapping Jaffar and Kumiko to her attention. She smiled widely, and said, "Kumiko, Jaffar. He has stumbled on an idea and nursed it and made it into his goal for this war. Ideas come from the mind. And—And when the mind is overwhelmed with ideas, we express it in speech—or in _writing_."

Kumiko gasped, looking overwhelmed herself, knowing that Nino was onto something. "And we are in the Library! How timely!" Nino exclaimed, excited. "Every book, every theory, every letter written down stems from an idea. If His Majesty had an idea, it is either he ran into someone else's idea in a book or document and took it as his own. Or if he developed it on his own, he would have looked at references. I—I—Am I saying it well? Do you understand? I am overwhelmed by all this."

"So you suggest we see what His Majesty had been reading or writing or saying at every speech to figure his intentions?" Jaffar said, his tone never outgrowing his monotone, but he was looking impressed with his wife.

"Yes, we could do that," Kumiko nodded. "Zephiel keeps all his books in his own study, in his chambers. I could take a little look and see if a theme recurs. You know, now that all this has been pointed out, I remember that he was often up awake in his study late in the night while I slept. Maybe there is something there."

"But how? You have evicted yourself from the King's Chambers, Kumiko," Nino pointed out.

Kumiko just gave a little laugh. "I moved away of my own will. I trust I can move back of my own will as well."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The King's Bedchambers

"And so you room with me again," Zephiel remarked, as he watched Kumiko enter his private bedchambers with her attendants and maidservants in tow, bringing along a few of her possessions and putting them to their usual places. "Can I ask what inspired this decision, my dear wife?"

"I just missed you, Your Highness," she replied dismissively, and by that he knew the move was not because of her missing him at all. _So there is another motive in this._ "And my personal chambers were too big for a single woman. You know my reasons. You cite them to me everyday in invitation that I return."

_No, I don't, and I see you won't tell me your real reasons at all. _"Yes, I know," he said, a lie. And then he helped with her belongings, directing the servants of where to put this and that. It was easy because her tables and shelves and wardrobe was untouched, as if he had been waiting for her to move back all along. "But you're welcome. I was tired of being alone in this big space, too." And then he added in an exaggerated mockery that almost only Kumiko could interpret as such, "And I missed you _so, so much_ too. It's not the same without you, Kumiko."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Grand Ballroom

Surely the lapse in military activity meant something—since for the second time court once again gathered together and had dinner and entertainment, with the king and queen present. It seems the king finally had time to tend to his court's desires for merriment and intrigue, for attention. He conversed with his courtiers and nobles and knights and scholars, and was ordering for the music himself. His wife was, as is usual, constantly at his side, offering her flattery and witty conversation for the men and women alike. She argued in theology and strategy and politics and history and literature—a learned scholar in her own right. It was easy to forget that behind her beauty—truly, she looked inviting that evening in a light beige gown that fitted around her bodice so snugly it gave off the appearance of nudity—there was also a woman who was very, very intelligent, if a little naïve.

Everyone almost always seemed to forget she was an intelligent woman, once the only girl receiving education from Bern's famed Military Academy. Rather, as a woman, everyone only praised her beauty, her taste in clothes, her eyes, her hair, her laughter, the way she smiled—the things the eyes can see. Or maybe it was because she lacked the actual skills that were to be praised. She was not such a dancer enough, not a singer enough, not a musician enough, not a poet enough, not an artist enough, to receive such praises for those skills. Unlike Zephiel—twice, thrice a scholar than her, a pianist, poet, musician, painter, hunter, jouster, strategist, designer, writer, la la la la la—the song goes on and on. Compared to other women, to _common women, _Kumiko was a gem. Beside the man she has to appear next too almost every day, she was nobody. And forget about her upper hand in appearances, in beauty. Zephiel was handsome enough, but frankly, Kumiko thought, he could look like an ugly, misshapen thing and still it wouldn't matter to anyone as long as a royal crown sit on his head.

_Zephiel, please tell me my worth. Please tell me that I am worth something. I could either hate or love you, Zephiel. And you're the only one who can help me choose between the two._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was not only Kumiko who was surprised when at dinner she again saw the wyvern knight Heath dressed for the occasion—it seemed every other courtier was surprised yet welcomed him just as well. He had put together his own outfit this time, a formal military suit that Kumiko didn't even know he owned. Even more surprising was his now neat-cut hair, short enough that the streaks of white that used to be in them were no longer noticeable, cropped gone. He seemed like a different man, mingling with others—men and women of higher birth and status that him—rather than shying away from them. Yet for all the niceness that he was showing he had the look of a look of a prideful, yet wounded lion in his eyes. The kind of beast that when hurt, starts to be more feral than it was, starts to feel more alive.

It seemed he was a different man, Kumiko thought, as Heath smiled at her from a distance and gave her a nod. It was the hair, Kumiko thought, or something in him has genuinely changed. She was even more surprised that he came towards her, towards her seat beside the king. From the corners of her eyes, Kumiko could see Zephiel eyeing Heath suspiciously.

Heath, however, looked as graceful as a house cat. He came before them and bowed. "Sir Heath," Zephiel greeted him. "You appear to have developed a liking to my court."

"Your Highness, you surround yourself with the best people in the continent." _The most idiotic, the most greedy, the most narrow-minded people in the continent—puppets of a puppeteer king. The best minds, yes, they are here as well, but none of them have the guts to match their brains. They would not stupidly speak their minds for fear of their heads. _"There is no reason for a man to dislike your court. Your Highness, I would be so privileged if you permitted me to a dance with the queen."

Kumiko, listening to Heath's speech with unmasked interest, almost leapt out of her seat. What does Heath want now? Is this actually him, or is this a different man? And what courage, there—to ask the king for her hand in dance. Zephiel was ill-noted for his suspecting eye for any man who seemed to have her trust. Truly, only Jaffar, who was already married, could be seen with Kumiko without the entire court filling in uproar with whispers of an affair and without the king seeming the slightest bit suspicious and jealous. But Kumiko had to figure out what is it Heath wanted. "Oh, please, let me, Your Majesty," she pleaded.

He never answered, all he gave was that shooing gesture he did with his hands that mostly either meant "get out of my sight" or "just go and do what you wish". She didn't know if he was asking Heath to leave or giving him permission. When she held onto his hand, he finally bothered to answer. "Go ahead and do what you want."

Heath gave his thanks, and Kumiko got up and took Heath's arm. "That is the scariest thing I have ever done in my life, I think," Heath whispered to her as soon as their backs were turned towards the king. "My knees are shaking. I half expected him to send me to the gallows."

"Oh, Heath. Zephiel is a just man," said Kumiko, but quickly after she said the words she realized the mistake. He _was_ a just man. Or, he had always tried to be. A sudden flash of innocent lives dead in war came to Kumiko's mind, while beside him, Heath was thinking in the same school of thought, thinking of colleagues and soldiers and rebellious nobles executed before his eyes. _Kings are all the same. You will never be able to say that one is truly just._

Heath led her to the center of the hall, so that they could take a place in the set of dancers. _But I'm not here just to dance, Kumiko_, Heath thought. _I have to tell you everything I know. About this war. About the king's plans. About the dragons._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Heath led her for only one set of the dance, though while the music was playing, Heath was hearing something else in his head, an earlier conversation with Anko.

"_Have you told Kumiko anything about the war yet? About Araphen? About anything you have ever seen?"_

"_No, no, not yet. In fact we may have been about to get to it until you suddenly walked in."_

"_Then thank the god of thieves, my timing was perfect. Don't tell her anything."_

"_And why not?"_

"_You know how Kumi is. She hears horrible news and she suddenly gets swayed by emotion and ends up in some atrocious rampage. We've had enough of that. Bern Keep has seen enough of their queen shouting around and demanding answers."_

"_And you are telling me to lie? To keep this from her? She has every right to know what happened in Lycia, what I saw. Do you have any idea how much Kumiko cares for Lycia and our friends there? I can't lie to her and tell her everything is okay when—"_

"_You don't have to lie."_

"_Then what do you expect me to do? Evade the questions? Tell nothing about the war, the old friends there that I saw, the dragons? Why?"_

"_If you would have seen the way she changed her manner towards His Majesty yesterday evening—you would understand. If you know her even up to half of how I know her—and the king, as well—you would understand. I have finally gotten her to a train of though where I had always wanted her to be in, and she cannot stray from it now. Not now, Heath."_

"…_No one ever understands what you are truly up to, Anko."_

"…_Usually, you do. So please do this for me, Heath. I know if you think long on it, you'll understand."_

No, Anko, Heath thought. Enough of this. I love you so much that I'm starting to hate you; I feel that I have to betray you just so you will see me.

I betray you because I love you.

_I know if you think long on it, you'll understand._

But then Heath was distracted from his thoughts when all of a sudden his eyes caught on a flash of red fabric, and instantly a scarlet red gown flashed back to his mind, held up by a crisscross of ribbons at the back, slitted at the sides to show strong, tanned legs whenever she swirled in her skirts. _Anko_. He turned around to see if she was there, but as quickly as that the woman in the red gown was gone, swallowed up in the crowd.

_You told me you loved me. Why are you going to do this to me? _He could almost hear her voice in his mind, sounding absolutely betrayed.

I love you and that's exactly why I am going to do this.

_Don't you trust me? Why are you getting in my way? Why do you want to ruin everything for me?_

I'm not ruining everything for you! You're ruining yourself and I'm trying to save you!

_Save me? You're putting me in danger. If you tell Kumiko what you know, she would hate me for not telling her myself. If you tell Kumiko what you know, I get blamed by the king for how this information was leaked when strict orders have been given to everyone to never breathe a word of this to her. Why do you do this to me? When my head is on the chopping block because of treason you'll know the truth that it's you who betrayed me and put me there. You're going to kill me, Heath._

Heath groaned and put a hand to his head as if it suddenly hurt, stopping in the dance. _How can I hear her voice in my head? _But he knew how. _I know her too much, I know what she'll say to me if she found out what I am about to do._

"Are you alright?" Kumiko was at his side, looking utterly concerned. "Heath, what's wrong?"

He shook his head a little, as if saying it was nothing important. "…Just a little headache." And then he looked down at Kumiko, into her sapphire eyes looking extremely concerned for his sake. _I have to tell her everything. Everything I know. _He could grab her and pull her into one of those curtained alcoves and tell her about everything he knew if he wished. Better yet, he already had a note with all the details written in it tucked in his coat—he could easily slip it into Kumiko's hands and then walk away.

_If I die, it's your fault,_ Anko said. _If this entire war is never stopped and if everything fails in the long run, it's your fault. Because you stopped me and betrayed me._

"I'm sorry," Heath said. "I'm sorry. I just need some air," he quickly told Kumiko, and then he walked out of the room.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Nino and Jaffar had stopped dancing and had walked over to Kumiko's side as soon as they saw Heath walk away. Kumiko had her brows furrowed and her lips pouted in an expression of extreme baffle. "I wonder what's wrong with him," Kumiko said.

"Must be dizzy from the dancing," Nino remarked.

"I doubt it," said Kumiko. "When he came here looking like that—that look in his eyes, that smile, that hair—I felt like I was looking at a different man. Something… changed. Something's wrong with Heath."

They all looked contemplative, staring at the direction where Heath walked off to.

"I'll go get him," said Jaffar. "I'll go find out what's wrong."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The King's Bedchamber

Kumiko pleaded feeling ill a few hours after the dancing in the banquet, and asked her husband for leave to get some rest. Zephiel, suddenly puzzled and concerned for her physical state, opted to retire for the evening too and leave the court to dance and dine. They made the quiet walk back to their now-shared bedchambers, and if Kumiko was quiet, Zephiel knew that she was indeed feeling ill or something was indeed wrong. Usually she'd say a word or two. All the way to their rooms she was quiet, it even seemed like she was… scared of something. _She heard something_, Zephiel thought. _Either she heard something or she truly is ill. But she was very well a few moments ago. She just heard something. Someone told her something._

…_That wyvern knight. He told her something._

"I'll go and get changed, if you will excuse me," she said, as she stopped before the door to her wardrobe, a small room of her own filled with clothes for her to change in, in their bedroom. She sounded so weak when she said it, he began to retrace his thoughts and think that she was only really just feeling ill. _Must be the wine. _He gave his permission, and she disappeared into the dressing room.

She emerged out of her wardrobe in a rose pink nightdress, its fabric feeling as light as air over her body. As she walked into his—their—bedchambers, she caught him already in his sleeping robes, setting aside the fur-lined cape that he wore for the day. At evenings like this, Zephiel dressed himself, cared for himself, did everything on his own—it was almost as if the evenings were sacred and he wanted none of the servants following him and attending to him. And thus this king, this public figure, knew how to keep parts of his life hidden and private. As he moved around his—_their _chamber and checked on the windows and the balcony to see if they have been locked and shut well, Kumiko imagined that if he had been an ordinary man, a commoner of Bern without a single servant, Zephiel would be able to take it gracefully and survive.

_That was a stupid thought. Zephiel would never be an ordinary man. If he had been an ordinary man he would learn to use his brilliance and skill to do better for himself and be rich and have servants of his own eventually. _

"…How are you feeling?" he asked, as he had finished snapping shut the last window. She stirred from her thoughts and she looked at him and caught the quick head-to-foot gaze that he regarded her with. He turned back to his preoccupation with the window as quickly as he looked at her, but Kumiko already felt embarrassed, as if she had done something wrong. She crossed her arms to herself and shifted on her footing, looking down on the floor, familiar with the way he looks at her like that everytime she had just emerged out of a corner or had a change of clothing. He would sweep his eyes down over her form with such a puzzled expression, as if sizing up her beauty or worth, and then always as quickly look away, as if saying, _not good enough._

_There are many, many times, Zephiel, when you make me feel so small and worthless._

"It always puzzled me how long it takes for women to get dressed. Guinevere and mother used to take _hours,_" he continued, as he looked out the windows, at the view beyond, and then wondered if he should shut the curtains close and turn on the lights or leave the curtains be to just let the moonlight enter. After a silence, a lack of response from Kumiko, he turned back to face her and asked, "Kumiko, are you alright? Are you that ill?"

She almost looked ethereal in the bluish moonlight. However, to her, he looked like a shadow, back turned against the light. He was bathed in darkness; she was embraced by the light. In the darkness he looked as sinister and evil as the man she had always feared he was or could be. Her head began to hurt as if she truly were ill, but in a second Kumiko collected herself and forced on a smile. "I'm alright, my lord …I think. And I just hope you don't hold it against me if I dressed too long for your tastes. Please don't be mad at me for trying to look beautiful in my sleep." _After all, I'm only good for my looks, right, Zephiel?_

She slowly sat on one of his velvet sofas—spacious, this one, unlike the seats and couches in her rooms; the king was a taller and bigger man than her and his furniture showed it. He looked at her from where he stood, and then slowly, he walked towards her and then seated himself beside her. She smiled at him nervously.

_Something is wrong with you, _he deduced. He put a hand to her forehead and neck to see if she were sick with fever, but it didn't seem to be the case. _Then you aren't really that ill_. But then again, he thought, _something is always wrong with Kumiko these days. Ever since she found out about the war. _He knew it was no longer a matter of physical sickness, her complaints, but rather she was only deeply, deeply troubled.

_But trying to figure out what you want and what your worry is would only cause me headache, _he thought. _I figure most of the times it's better that I don't ask what's wrong with you and just deduce. But_ y_ou're hiding something with that smile of yours that looks like its been plastered on your face to hide the pain. I know it's about the war. I just don't know why it bothers me that much._

And then he remembered why. _I vowed that I would not hurt my own wife the way he did with mother. I have not cheated on her at all and have never done what he ever has and yet she's hurting just the same. _

_The way she smiles reminds me of mother, now. A woman betrayed. And I betrayed her._

"…Is there anything I can get for you?" he asked her, sounding genuinely concerned. "Some food or drink? Are you cold? We can have the fire stoked higher. If you truly feel that ill we could call a physician. Or would you like to sleep? You can go ahead."

Kumiko's smile began to appear more genuine as well. She had remembered the times she was ill with fever or nausea or with a little cold—Zephiel always tended to her in those cases, never afraid of being too near her and catching her illness. She put her hands onto his and smiled up at him. _There are many, many times that you make me feel so small, Zephiel. But there are also many, many times you made me feel happy._

And he stared right at her face, astonished to find her smiling at him as if she were not about to cry, but because of joy—as if all trace of anger has been erased and all that was left was a very beautiful, very kind wife. He put a hand to her chin and lift her face towards her, to the light, as if he were trying to examine if what he were seeing was true. She gave a little laugh, and he smiled back at her for that. And then he leaned towards her and kissed her.

He meant it to end quickly, as all kisses with Kumiko do, but much to his surprise she parted her lips for him and kissed back—with whatever inexperience she had with kissing showing through, but that was forgivable. It even charmed him, the way she felt so vulnerable and uncertain and yet at the same time willing. Willing, because she had not breathed a word or done a single thing to stop him. And if she were not stopping him, he was not going to stop.

And so he kissed her deeper. He shifted in the couch to turn his body towards her and laced an arm around her waist to draw her closer. He put a hand up to the nape of her neck, ushering her to kiss him as intensely as he did her. She was hesitant, and he felt her shiver and tense up in fear or something of the sort, but she obliged him.

She didn't stop him. Even as he pressed her body down towards the couch, making her lie down on the velvet surface, and he was on his knees and elbows above her, never breaking the kiss. Zephiel's mind was flooded by the question _why isn't she stopping me?_ And yet the same time he also felt exulted in his thought that, _thank goodness she isn't stopping me, there must be something wrong with her—or there must be something right! _He itched to touch her, to lower himself towards her until he could feel her body against his—_that devil of a nightdress, of such light material, if I just grazed my skin against it, it almost feels as if I'm touching her naked. _

But wherever his thoughts ran, he kept himself in check—for Kumiko's sake. If he had touched her then and there or grabbed her and threw her to his bed, what would she think? _You know how it is with her—you never know when something you're doing might offend her._

But then again she's not stopping me. So I'm not stopping. If she wants me to stop she'll have to say so, and if she doesn't then I get what I want.

…But then again, this is Kumiko. If I did what I wanted whether she stopped me or not, a few days from now I am going to hear a tiring complaint about how I never bothered to think about what she felt and am just a typical perverted male noble. Please, no, I don't want that.

…_But that nightdress. That damn nightdress. I just want to get it off her. I just want her to trust me and let me do what I want. I just want her to trust me and…_

He mentally sighed and then broke away from the kiss, feeling himself breathless afterwards. He flicked his eyes open and then he looked down at her—she was breathless, too, her cheeks flushed, her eyes closed and her brows knotted as if she were thinking that she couldn't believe what was happening to her.

"Kumiko," he whispered.

She opened her eyes and he found them hazed over in that attractive way—and she looked at him as if she were looking at a dream. "Zephiel," she said.

He found himself silent, staring into her eyes, and he was sure if she could see him clearly she would find his eyes glazed over with lust; that if he pressed his body against hers and kissed her again that very moment she would know for sure what he wanted. _But this is Kumiko. This is my wife. I vowed never to hurt my own wife and I have already hurt her in so many ways. Not with this one, though. I have to ask. _He opened his mouth to ask, the words already at the tip of his tongue. _I want to have you right now, Kumiko. I want you to come to bed with me. I desire you. I still desire you._

She beat him at speaking up, though. "Zephiel… can I ask you something?" Her voice was a confessional murmur.

"Anything," he quickly answered, unconsciously letting his guard down, though he was also puzzled at Kumiko's sudden desire for questions when there was only one desire in his mind.

"…Do you think I'm beautiful?"

He gave a little laugh as he shifted on his position—still on his knees and elbows over her—and said, "Of course. You are absolutely beautiful, my dear wife." _Especially without clothes on._

"But my beauty isn't my only worth, is it?"

She almost sounded scared, like she was asking for reassurance and compliment—typical of a woman who was scared to give herself to man and has quite possibly never done it before yet—so he quickly decided to shower her with it. "Of course. You're as beautiful as a goddess, Kumiko—every man and woman in Bern says it—but it's not your only worth. I never married you because of your beauty alone."

"Of course," she quickly replied, tone suddenly cold, and by that he blinked at her as if he had snapped from a dream—a very good dream—and he had realized that he said something wrong. "I was a stumbling block in the way of your plans—that was why you married me. I never forget, Zephiel."

He groaned and pulled away from her and sat upright on his couch, his desire suddenly flushed out with anger. For a moment he felt frustrated, and not because he was so close to having her and now it seemed they were in the beginning of an argument again. He was frustrated because he had caught him off-guard with a kiss.

_I never married you because of your beauty alone, _he thought, the same thoughts that ran into his mind when she had just asked him the question. His unguarded thoughts. _I married you because of your character. Because you amused me and made me laugh and gave me so much joy. It just so happened that you were quite possibly in the way of my plans, too. It just so happened. But if you weren't, I think I still would have married you._

She collected herself and sat upright, too, sitting beside him calmly, as if they weren't just one step away from bedding a few moments ago. "Is it true?" she asked, and if Zephiel looked he might have found her looking straight at him, eyes glossing over as if they were going to spill tears. "Zephiel, was that true? Am I truly just an object to you, like you said once? Am I?"

_It just so happened, Kumiko. It just so happened. _But then he turned to her and looked, and the logic that had been built in his mind by years and years of pain began to work again. _You caught me off guard with a kiss, Kumiko. You made me feel vulnerable and therefore am now trying to get me to tell you something. Something I would never say. If I told you I loved you, you would forever use it as an excuse to control me. Like he did. _"Kumiko, you know I won't stand for these mind games," he said, his voice suddenly cold, all the warmth in him suddenly lost. "What are you trying to make me say? Stop it." _I should have grabbed you and threw you on my bed when I had the chance and never bothered to care about what you might feel._

"Zephiel," she clung onto his hand and shook it a little. She looked like she was going to erupt into crying any second. "I want to know the truth. Truly, am I nothing to you?"

"Kumiko," he said, "the truth is what we choose to believe. Whatever I say you will only believe what you want to believe. So let me do you a favor. Believe what you choose to. Just believe whatever will make things easier for you."

"No, I want the truth," she stubbornly insisted. "I don't want your 'go ahead and think what you want to'. I beg you, Zephiel. Tell me if I am nothing at all to you. Tell me what I am to you." _Because I am tearing myself apart wondering how you can make me so happy yet give me so much pain._

_But there is no truth, Kumiko,_ he thought. _You are both everything and nothing to me._

He put a hand to her chin and directed her face so he could look into her blue eyes. "Kumiko, your worth is something you build for yourself. Not something you let another man judge. You work to keep yourself worthy, Kumiko. You work so you aren't _nothing_." And then he added, coolly, "I was just going to ask for permission to take your clothes off when you started with your pointless questioning. So can we forget we ever talked about this and resume to where we were a few moments ago?"

She bit her lip and her lips tugged down into a frown. "No."

He groaned—_I knew it—a_nd got up and said, "Then go ahead and get your sleep. You were claiming to feel ill, aye? Then go and sleep. Go and rest your pretty little head."

"Where are you going?" she asked when he drifted away and walked away, though she already knew the answer.

"To my study. I'm going to sit there and forget this evening ever occurred. If you need me, you know where to find me."

The room was only a few footsteps away, directly connected to their bedchambers. Kumiko lit up, and Zephiel watched curiously as she suddenly looked interested. _Or it's my eyes and my still fogged-up mind thinking things. _"I'll sit with you, then. I'll wait for you so we could sleep together."

"A tempting thought, Kumiko, us sleeping together—if you mean it in the context that I am thinking of—but you're as chaste as Saint Elimine herself," he sharply remarked, and he was sure he saw her flinch. "Our people think you're a barren woman or I'm an impotent man—but no person brings that upon himself or herself. If people find out that you're just a woman who deprives her husband—their king—of his privilege, they're going to hate you. I say nothing to save you from that. But one day, Kumiko, I swear I am going to get tired of arguing with you and trying to cater to your whims. Realize what I do for you before that day comes." _I was stupid to think I wanted your trust, Kumiko. That all I ever wanted was your trust._

He turned around and left to the adjacent room, his study.

_I realize everything you have done for me, Zephiel. I realize. That's why I'm trying to save you, even if I'm already tired. But my words and my actions are worth nothing if I myself am nothing to you at all._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

In his darkened bedchamber, Jaffar took off his coat and vest and then the tiny little note that was slipped in the pocket. Heath's note. The small thing with the wyvern knight's even smaller letters was a confession of everything he has ever seen and heard in the war, along with his goodbyes. He was going to disappear, Heath wrote. He was going to disappear and stop fighting in a war that he was sick of fighting in.

_Wise action_, Jaffar thought. He and Heath were familiar with the protocol of traitors—betray, and then run. Better yet, join the opposite side to be more protected. It was easy to imagine that after this, Heath would turn up in Lycia or Etruria. Absolutely easy to imagine.

Jaffar turned towards the fireplace, fire stoked a little too high—Nino always liked it when it was warm and hated the cold—and then he tossed the little note in the fire, and watched as it turned to ash. Kumiko was never going to read it.

"Oh, how was Heath, Jaffar?" Nino's head emerged from her dressing room, and Jaffar turned around to see her in her nightgown, holding a brush to her long green locks. "Ever found out if anything was wrong with him after all?"

She seemed to have seen nothing of his burning of Heath's note. "It was just a little headache," Jaffar told his wife, lying. "Seems the dancing made him dizzy after all."

**End of Chapter.**

A/N:Chapter 26x of the Journey is around 50% complete; will update soon.


	11. The Illusion of Contentment Part 1

CHAPTER NINE | _The Illusion of Contentment_

PART ONE | Communication, Silence

LYCIA | Castle Ostia

A day had not fully passed when Roy of Pherae walked the perimeter of Castle Ostia, his troops still in the business of fully securing the castle and the castle town. The borders had to be protected, new defenders had to be positioned to patrol the walls and borders, and with Ostia's forces decimated by over a half, what defense and security would they be able to offer their citizens? Lilina, daughter of Hector, now the leader of Ostia, made the decisions that she could, the Lady Serra conveniently at her side to whisper wisdom. But there were no easy decisions to be made. There was next to nothing that they could do in such a short amount of time to build up Ostia to it's former glory, to be able to withstand an attack from Bern again.

_They would come back sooner or later,_ Roy thought. Bern would have to strike back. King Zephiel had only to hear of the news of the recapture of Araphen and Ostia, and then he would send more soldiers to strike back. In a few more days, or a week, Ostia had to be ready.

"Master Roy! Bern's Dragon Knights have appeared at Castle Ostia!"

_In a few more days, or a week—not in a day!_ Roy thought. "What? They got here already?"

Merlinus, the balding old merchant who had been long in service to Lord Eliwood of Pherae, hastily climbed up the stone steps that ascended to Castle Ostia's defensive wall. He was out of breath after running, and then he said, "They're here… from the east… They've broken through many other territories of Ostia on the way here…"

He didn't have to say more—Roy had already looked beyond the wall, already spotting Bern's soldiers and wyvern riders charging towards them. _I thought a few more days… not a day! _"Summon all the defenders to their position to the walls," Roy quickly ordered, for Merlinus and the Ostian soldiers with him. "We'll take our group to meet them out by clearing by the castle town. We have to protect the citizens. Tell Lilina about this. We have to move as fast as we can."

0o0o0o0o0o0

General Narshen of the famed Three Wyvern Generals of Bern stood in the front lines among his soldiers, beside his wyvern, looking smug. Before him stood the forces of Roy of Pherae—if they were fit to be called a force or a fighting group at all. Roy of Pherae himself was just a small, mewling little redhead who looked too nice to lead a group. And his group—_in no way a military_—Narshed thought with a wicked smile, wasn't made up of what seemed to be good, hardened battle soldiers at all. Rather it was such a ragtag group with a few cavaliers and knights, some mercenaries from Ilia, and even—goodness gracious!—children. _This is who retook Ostia? That Leygance must have been absolutely incompetent. Heh. Lycians._

"Hehehe... Are you Roy?" Narshen called over the clearing. "I must thank you for getting rid of that idiot Leygance for me. Now, you will be a good boy and leave Ostia to me."

Roy, standing on the front lines of his group, took a long hard look at Bern's Wyvern General. This was not a long-serving general, Roy thought. In his younger years he has heard about the Generals of Bern, and as far as Roy remembered, Narshen's position had been held by someone else a year ago. He barely looked like a General—there was a sleaziness in the way he moved, his lips constantly in a knowing smirk, his curly pale brown hair wafting in the wind. He was tall, he was lanky. Not as big and strong as other knights seemed. _But then again,_ Roy thought, _I shouldn't underestimate him. This is the man who took half of Lycia, destroyed our towns, killed our men, burned our villages, lured our lords._ "Don't be ridiculous!" Roy called out to Narshen. "Who would give Ostia to the likes of you...?"

"Oh? Then do you wish to fight us with that sad little group of yours? That's fine with me. I shall annihilate you, as I did with Hector!"

"Damn!" Roy muttered, to himself, as he saw Narshen's forces take their positions and stances. There were about a hundred or so men from Narshen—Roy barely had a half or a third of that. At the corners of his eyes he caught his group divided, some fearlessly taking to their mounts and readying their weapons, others looking more unsure of what was going on and sure of only one thing—they were facing death.

Narshen's foot soldiers were at the ready. His wyvern riders were also ready to fight. Mages cannot be sent to the front to deal with the wyverns first because they would be vulnerable. But knights and cavaliers sent to the front would be defeated by the swifter, deadlier wyvern riders. _What do I do… Maybe I should…_

As soon as Roy grasped the answer and nearly mouthed the command, a shaking of the earth came, and everyone standing there in the clearing was startled. And then faces turned to the west, were the sun was almost setting, and where hope for Roy of Pherae stood.

They were lined around the hill borders of Ostia—knights, paladins, cavaliers, mage knights and valkyries and archers in the three hundreds. And they were led by a man with blonde hair, steed shining in the sunset, and a woman on her horse, sage green hair visible to Roy even in the distance. Before them flew the banner of Etruria.

"I am Percival, Knight General of Etruria," the blonde General of Etruria called out. "Yesterday, Sorcery General Cecilia informed me that Ostia had requested Etruria's protection. Therefore, Ostia is to become a protectorate of Etruria as of now!"

Narshen looked stunned at this turn of events—_Etruria! _

_Eturia, getting involved, why now, of all times?_ His soldiers were not enough to battle a legion that many, and if he risked it, the famed mages of Etruria would only take them down. "What...!"

"You seem discontent," said Cecilia. "We are prepared for battle. But can those Dragon Knights of yours stand a chance against all of us?"

_Etruria! Damned Etruria!_ "You-!"

"I am Cecilia," the female general of Etruria said, "Sorcery General of Etruria. Ostia is now under our protection."

_Damned Etruria! Who do they think-?_ "Argh...you...you...!"

"General Narshen, please control your temper!" one of Narshen's commanders bravely advised him . "General Percival is one of the strongest warriors in Etruria. And with General Cecilia here as well, we'll be slaughtered!"

"I know!" snapped Narshen, angry to be advised of the obvious. The Etrurian legion was too many for them to take on, combined with the Lycians. "Cecilia, is it?" he called out to the woman, and then said between gritted teeth, "Watch your back from now on!"

And then Narshen and his troops turn back, and leave.

0o0o0o0o0oo0o0

"You are General Roy of the Lycia Alliance Army?" Percival approached Roy as soon as Narshen and his troops were clear and gone.

Roy turned to the blonde Etrurian General, after a long sigh of relief. Behind him, his ragtag group of Lycians, fighters, mercenaries—not even an official army—seemed to give a collective sigh of relief, too, and they had gone towards each other to talk and chat and be grateful for the reinforcements that had quite possibly just saved their lives. The Etrurian soldiers approached them, too, carrying supplies of food and drink to the citizens of Ostia and to the members of Roy's army.

Etruria had saved them today. In the nick of time. "Yes..." Roy told Percival. "I am in charge of the Alliance Army in the place of Lord Hector."

Percival nodded. "I see. Lycia is in a time of hardship. Our king also sends his words of regret for Lord Hector's death."

"Thank you for your consideration. If Etruria hadn't helped us... Ostia would be under Bern's control now. Thank you very much," said Roy, offering Percival a little bow, but Percival held his hand up and stopped Roy midway of it.

"I am not the one to thank," said Percival. Roy gave him a puzzled look. "You should thank Cecilia, who went against the king to help you," Percival explained.

_Cecilia? Went against the king?_ "She... disobeyed the king's orders?"

General Percival gave a little laugh, of how surprised Roy looked—and for his surprise, too, recalling how Cecilia had stubbornly set her mind to helping Ostia and had gotten him to agree to help her. _For all her calm, she can be very determined._ "Yes, she did that—now isn't that something?"

And the look on Roy's face turned into joy—thank goodness for friends. Thank goodness we are friends with Etruria, and Etrurians like Lady Cecilia. They saved us today.

"...Well," Percival said, "I must be off. Two of the three Etrurian Generals shouldn't be leaving the country for so long." He turned and looked around his surroundings and found the green-haired General nearby, helping with the supplies that they were generously giving Lycia. He called her. "Cecilia, I have to leave now. Can you take care of the rest?"

She gave a little nod. "Yes. Thank you, Percival. You can leave the rest to me."

And General Percival of Etruria leaves, taking his soldiers with him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Roy watched as the General Percival and his men disappeared westward, carrying the flag of their country, Etruria, with them. He had heard much about the three generals of Etruria but had not actually met all of them—and now, he had met two of three, he had met Percival, the Knight General. "Whew... General Percival... now he's someone."

"Nervous, were you?" A small, amused voice asked, and Roy turned and found that it was Cecilia.

"General Cecilia!" he greeted in joy, and he nearly gave her a hug—and stopped himself mentally, thinking if it was appropriate for him to suddenly embrace her. She had been her mentor in battle tactics, and had given his youth much wisdom to ponder on. She had left him then when Etruria called on her to give her the title of Mage General—and Roy knew that in Lycia, she was missed. She was simply such a good woman to everyone she crosses paths with. "...It is good to see you again," he told her.

"How are you doing, Roy?" she asked. "Grown any taller yet?"

Roy gave a hearty laugh at what he knew was a jest from Cecilia. Cecilia was not actually a tall woman, but being more advanced in years, and with Roy's smaller stature, he had never been able to catch up to her in height, despite his childish declarations years ago that he will. Height was not one of the things he inherited from his tall father. "I think I've grown, General Cecilia. A bit. In the short time you haven't seen me, a lot has changed."

A lot has changed, Cecilia thought with a bit of sadness. Roy's height aside, far too many things changed—lives were killed in such a short amount of time, war begins, and the balance of powers of Elibe is hanging on a dangerous cord. "You look a little tired, but you seem okay," said Cecilia.

Roy nodded to say that he was indeed as she said. "Yes... but thanks to Etruria, we were able to avoid disaster."

"I'm glad we made it here in time."

"I'm sorry," Roy said. "I put you through a lot of trouble. I heard you went against the king's wishes just to be able to help us. I apologize for that, General Cecilia."

Cecilia firmly shook her head, as if to say Roy did not need to apologize. "It's going to be beneficial for us Etrurians for Ostia to go under our protection."

"Beneficial?" Roy asked.

"Yes. Bern's been acting aggressively these days, as you know. We also want to do something about it, but we haven't been directly invaded, so we have no reason to go to war with them. But if Bern gets any stronger, the balance of powers would be shattered."

Roy, a bright, clever boy, caught on what this meant immediately. "So when Ostia requested protection, you saw it as a good reason to declare war on Bern?"

"Right. We use our alliance to Ostia as a tool to eventually have the reason to be able to attack them sometime. You know Ostia has always been in good friendship to Etruria rather than Bern and everyone knows it. We just did what would be the best for us, Roy. You don't need to feel that you are in our debt."

"Yes," said Roy, but his mouth was only saying it—the words of General Percival were still in his mind, and he was still caught in disbelief at the image of Cecilia going against orders. And so he knew he was not in Etruria's debt, but in Cecilia's.

"So you shouldn't thank us," said Cecilia.

"Understood. I won't. Well anyway, would you please come and meet the rest of our army? You should meet with Lilina, too."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

OSTIA | The Castle Town

"Erk! Oh, Erk! Erky!"

He was handing out the food and grain that Etruria had given to Ostia as relief, when that high-pitched voice suddenly called his name. The way his name was screamed like that made shivers run down his spine—out of nostalgia. _Clearly this is a dream_, he thought. _How could someone scream my name like she did fifteen years ago, the same tone and pitch?_

But then he turned around and saw blinding pink hair, white and red robes whisking in the wind, her form running towards her. She looked so… _happy_ that she had seen him, it almost seemed like she would cry for joy. "Serra?" he whispered to himself, puzzled at this visage.

"Erk!" she screamed. And then he felt something like an earthquake hit him as she ran into him in a tight, hearty embrace. All he could do was embrace back, still surprised.

When she pulled away, he held her at arm's length and examined her. She had tears in her eyes, clearly from joy. _Really, Serra, ridiculous as always_. "S-Serra? Is this you?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, as she twirled in front of him and flicked her hair, a woman used to showing off her beauty. Erk couldn't help but give a slight frown at the action—she hasn't changed, it seems. But she was at least the one thing that hasn't changed ever since Erk stepped out of Nabata. Travelling with generals Cecilia and Percival had exposed him to all the drastic changes in Etruria, and of the continent. Everything has changed.

_Everything, but Serra_. "…I hate to say this, but it's good to see you again, Serra," Erk managed to say.

"_Of course_ it's great to see me!" said Serra, as she elbowed him and gave a little laugh. "Who wouldn't be overjoyed to see me?"

_Ah, the same conceit._ Only this time, it sounded less conceited; it was a hint _vulnerable_. He remembered that tone. He remembered Serra's pride and conceit oddly matched with tears, as she tried to make him believe that she was someone, some princess from Etrurian nobility—which she was not. The pride that hides her pain.

He noted her pink hair, no longer in ponytails. She was holding a Light tome in her hand. Her clothes were of high quality, too lavish for a priestess. And then he remembered why. "You married Lord Oswin, I heard. How is he?"

The life and color in her face suddenly drained, and she looked away from him. "…He's dead," she said. "Died when Bern took Araphen siege."

He took… He took real good care of me, Erk."

_...Oh._ Erk suddenly felt nervous, not knowing how to address Serra after what she just said. Many years ago, news came about that Serra was renouncing her vow as a priestess to marry Lord Oswin—that certainly made a lot of people talk; it was not everyday that a priestess of enough renown like Serra threw her vows away. So _that_ was her pain. He found himself suddenly lost at her revelation of it, of her distress. _Ah, how many years has it been?—and I still can't talk to girls. _"…As I can see," Erk said, uncertainly. And then he added, "I just wonder if _you_ took good care of him."

He meant it as a joke, an inexperienced attempt to get her spirits to lift up, to draw her into her usual conceited banter that she was a good woman, if not the best. But she did not rise to it. "Everyone's dead, Erk. Lord Oswin is dead. Lady Lyn is dead. Lord Hector is dead. Matthew is dead for all I know. His spies never breathe a word about him or where he is. I'm glad to see an old friend alive, for once. I'm glad you're alive, Erk."

Erk struggled internally for a few seconds, wondering how to respond to that. But then he found the right answer. "I'm glad you're alive, too, Serra. I truly am glad."

She smiled a bit and hugged him tight again. And for once, Erk let her.

"…I'm glad Etruria came. I'm glad you came," she said. "Everything will get better now, won't it? Bern can't fight Lycia and Etruria together. All of this will eventually stop. And then Ostia will rise up again."

0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | Bern Keep

In a few days, word travelled back to Bern about their loss against the combined forces of Ostia and Etruria. General Narshen was said to have returned to Bern Keep absolutely ashamed, and he had to endure the anger of General Murdock—who was said to have done the chastising because King Zephiel had become too annoyed with the Wyvern General who failed at an assignment where his peers did not. Ilia and Sacae were swiftly and successfully taken by General Brenya and General Murdock, and General Narshen was the only failure, unable to conquer Lycia. Narshen could already smell a demotion in the air, his favor with the king slowly slipping down. The wyvern knights were said to have been caught drinking to this. Most of them were not too fond of Narshen.

"I think I can sense someone's getting a promotion soon," Zeiss, Miledy's younger brother, playfully teased Gale, who he thought of as his own older brother. "Not a lot of soldiers are fond of Narshen. Not even His Majesty himself. You were always better suited for the job, Gale."

"Don't say that, Zeiss," Gale softly rebuked his lover's brother. "You cannot say that for sure. Nor can I. I know there are men more suited for the position than I am or was. Sir Heath, for example. He should have that position. He should."

But contrary to everyone's expectations, Narshen clung on to his position and stayed there, though he was already greatly disfavored. The king barely spoke to him, and His Highness was rumored to be so annoyed that he was ill-tempered, failing to carry a good conversation with everyone. His generals and advisors and servants were firsthand witness to his this—the king of Bern had never been actually friendly, but certainly he had always been a reasonable man.

"Firstly, Guinevere slips off unseen and unfelt by anyone," Zephiel said as he paced, discussing with Anko for their private meeting. "Next, Araphen is retaken by an army led by some young lordling. And now Narshen fails to take Lycia! Will I always be surrounded by incompetent people? Will I have to do everything myself?"

Anko stood before him, never flinching, much used to Zephiel's favor as well as to his displeasure. "My lord, you are surrounded by the most competent men in Bern and—"

"Apparently not!" Zephiel snapped at his Master of Spies. "If I remember, _you_ are supposed to figure out where my sister is! And what do you have on her? _Nothing_! Until now you have nothing on her!"

She knew where Guinevere was. She always knew. "I apologize for that, but it isn't entirely my fault, because certainly it's not my fault she escaped in the first place—her Defenders are too lax with her so that is what happens..."

Zephiel paused, and the face of the leader of Guinevere's Royal Defenders flashed to mind—the female wyvern knight, Miledy. "You women," he groaned, as he slunk down into his huge, cushioned seat in the room. "You're more trouble than all of you are worth. You, and my sister, and her incompetent guards, and my wife..."

Anko gave a slight cock of head to this, putting on an expression that clearly questioned Zephiel's words. He was not much for chauvinism, not until now. He had always been expressive of his appreciation for his sister Guinevere, his departed queen mother, his wife, and the few high-ranking females in his kingdom, such as her or General Brenya. He knew genius had no gender.

_But of course._ Things have changed, Anko reminded herself. _When it is peacetime and the women of your life love you, you can have no care in the world. But when things change and what they feel towards you changes, then by all means, you have all the trouble in the world on your shoulders. Women know how to cause trouble. Especially for men._

"And later in the day I will have to face my wife and undoubtedly, some argument will transpire again," Zephiel said, and Anko turned back to him, snapping from her own thoughts. Zephiel sighed—the anger in his voice was gone, and had almost changed to fatigue. "Every other evening, an argument. She never gets tired of it."

But suddenly, a flicker came across the king's eyes, as if he remembered something important. "...That wyvern knight, Heath," he said—and for the first time in this meeting Anko became visibly rattled as she heard the name being uttered by the king. Slowly Zephiel looked up to Anko, a questioning look on his face. "You are friends with him, aren't you?"

"He is more of Her Majesty's friend than mine, my lord," Anko pointed out, trying to sound level.

"You recommended him to be reinstated among Bern's knights a few years ago, if I recall correctly."

"Of course I did," Anko said, not sure where this conversation was leading to. All of a sudden, Zephiel jumps from talking about his wife _and then_ it becomes Heath. "He is a very skilled wyvern knight. It's a shame to let him go to waste."

"He's better than Narshen," Zephiel remarked, sounding impressed—but the expression on his face was connived, Anko thought, as if he were speaking praises only to see the reaction on her face. _Or it's me being paranoid if anything is about Heath._ "He _is_ a good man," said Zephiel. "So you are never better friends with him? You have no understandings, no intimacies?"

Anko fought the impulse to bite her lip. "No," she said, making her face look genuinely puzzled as to why the king was asking this. "I am a spy," she said. "I make no understandings with anyone, share no intimacies. You know that, my lord."

"I saw you at his arm one dinner, a few evenings ago. Are you sure that meant nothing?"

"Nothing," Anko said. "Though I do honestly think he is quite handsome, if you asked me. If I had to choose anyone's arm to be holding onto that evening it would be him. If lord James came, though, that might change," Anko added, taking a risk by saying something that was supposed to sound honest and nonchalant. Zephiel was always quick to catch on lies. He was a good liar himself. The only way to get through him was to lie with a hint of truth, to make him believe you have nothing to hide by being bold in statements.

"You share nothing with him?" Zephiel asked again, sounding like he was trying to make sure of something. "You are sure you are not _that_ attracted to him? Beyond thinking he is good-looking?"

Anko let out a little laugh. "_That _attracted, my lord? He is nice to look at. But that aside, what else is there?"

Zephiel laughed as well, the laugh sounding dismissive. "If you say so, Anko. But if I may say so, I think there is nothing wrong if you desire a man. You are woman after all, aren't you? So long as it doesn't get in the way of work."

_So long as you don't forget to keep your secrets_, Zephiel thought. _Because sometimes the people you love the most are the people you have to lie the most to._

Still smiling, the king rose from his seat and stood as if to leave the meeting at that—but then he came towards the spy and put a heavy hand to her shoulder.

And then he whispered: "I want him dead. If any of your spies find him, take him down. Set a bounty on his head. He is now an enemy of the country."

And for a second, Anko forgot to keep herself in check at the shock, and so she asked, "...What? Why?"

"He knows too much," Zephiel answered, simply. "And he's friends too much with my wife. If anyone wouldn't keep his mouth shut and would tell something to my wife, it would be him, aye? I'm tired of arguing with my wife. He could possibly feed her reasons to argue with me—and tell her things I don't want her to know of, too. If there will be treason in the land by my own wife, he will be the one to spark it. So do as I say. I want him dead."

She almost reasoned—she itched to reason—that,_ no, my lord, why would you bother yourself with this Knight who poses no actual threat to you, that is so loyal to this country he wouldn't be able to afford breaking his oaths?_ But that would be saying too much. That would be getting into danger together with him. _Kumiko must have been acting different and Zephiel must have attributed it to something Heath said._ And that was why he had asked her all those questions about her friendship with Heath—he was trying to figure if she was connected to it, too. And if she pleaded for Heath, it almost screamed out that indeed she was.

"Such a pity," Zephiel said, as he walked away. "He really was better than Narshen. In another life, maybe, he would have been a splendid Wyvern General of Bern."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Office of the Master of Spies

As soon as her meeting with the king ended, Anko felt her feet leading her back to her office, swiftly walking, almost running. But to run was a sign of panic, and she had to appear as the calm, in control Master Spy even if panicked was the very word to describe what she felt inside.

Eventually, she reached the safety of her rooms, and then—only then— did Anko found it right to vent out all her anger and frustration and panic in a little scream. She paced around her office , resisting the urge to throw something, to rip something apart, to stab something, or to badly incapacitate something or someone. It simply wasn't professional, and it gave no results. And with Anko, it was only the results that mattered. Anything that did not contribute to the ulterior goal was nuisance.

_Including him. Including Heath. He was supposed to be nuisance until I... Until I developed these stupid feelings. _

He couldn't have been very far, Anko thought, since who would be able to get very far from her and her network of Spies in one day? But then again, Heath was a wyvern rider—and a very stellar one. It was very much possible that he was no longer on Bern soil. Also a keen observer on terrain and the patrolling patterns of the wyvern guards of Bern, Heath would very much know how to hide from them and remain undetectable. There was no knowing when he was ever going to be seen again.

And yet Anko saw him frequently—she only had to close her eyes. If she willed it, she could remember every tiny detail of him—the smell of him, his voice, the sound of his laughter, the feel of his skin. And when she thought of him and imagined him lingering around, maybe walking up to her from behind and then taking her in an embrace—it was as if the air around her moved, as if he were truly, really, embracing her—only he was not there.

_This is my personal heaven and hell._

She looked down at the slip of paper in her hand, and knew that it was the very thing she was trying to save Heath from by making him vow to not tell Kumiko a word. The paper declared him an enemy of Bern, again a wanted fugitive, someone that was to be killed upon sight or brought to the Keep for a handsome sum. He was a threat to Bern and King Zephiel's war. He knew too much to let wander around. He had seen too many things. He had enough contacts in the other countries, he knew the right people to approach. He had the skills—this was the man who could have been a General under better circumstances. He had to be killed. _Immediately_.

"Damn this," Anko muttered, as she put down the paper, succeeding against the urge to crumple it and throw it to burn in her fireplace. Heath had brought it upon himself, Anko thought. She had tried to save him from this precarious situation by trying to make him shut up. He knew Zephiel's rules: N_o one talks_. And yet he stupidly risked his neck by telling something to Kumiko and then making a run for it. He never should have made a run for it. It almost very clearly suggested that he committed some sin.

_I am in-love with a stupid man who'd fight against an entire country because he knows it's in the wrong and because he has to tell the truth. Usually I would be incredibly impressed and turned on by this. But now I am only very, very worried and I can't help but wish Heath would have chosen to be a little less heroic._

_But that's exactly why I love him. He is a true Knight, a true hero._

"So how does it feel?" a voice in the room asked, and Anko nearly flipped over in surprise at the voice that interrupted her thoughts. She checked and then glanced up and her eyes found themselves on the man standing by her office door, leaning against it.

"How does it feel, being betrayed by the man you love?" Jaffar's cold voice asked, his eyes staring straight at the female spy, his arms crossed to himself.

He had outdone Anko there—entering her office without a trace of sound, without her detecting it. Anko regarded him with a cold look, eyebrows arched up. So caught up was she in her issues that she barely felt him enter her rooms.

But then again, this was Jaffar. He could sneak up on anyone he wanted.

For a man who has long left the life of an assassin, the very aura of one never left him. Anko had always half-admired, half-feared Jaffar—truly, at any time, Jaffar can take her place as Master Spy and do a decent job at it. He was her opposite, but at the same time he was her equal. He worked discreetly and quietly and used the coldness of his expression and lack of emotion as his weapons. Anko wanted to leave her mark and be recognized, and used extremes in emotion to hide the truth. Different tactics, at opposite ends of one another, but both of them were lethal at their field.

And yet there was one thing Anko had known about Jaffar when he had first seen him: he was no spy, no snake. He usually kept to his word. "Good day, Jaffar. Why do you ask that?" Anko retorted. "Would you like to have an idea of what Nino would feel if he found out where your loyalties are?"

"My loyalties are always to her," Jaffar said levelly, never sounding like he has risen to Anko's bait at argument. The expression on his face was solid and stone-cold, almost mask-like, hard to read. "And everything I do is for her in the end. She has no reason to doubt where my heart is."

Everything was for Nino—even if it meant running away from her years ago and going into hiding just so she would be safe from bounty hunters. Anko knew that Jaffar very well understood how you could hurt the person you love the most, for their sakes.

"Kumiko is not compromised," Jaffar said. "Heath was never able to get a message through to her. He tried to send a note to her telling of everything he is in knowledge of about this war, but the note never reached her."

"Where is the note now?" Anko asked, suddenly a notch more attentive.

"Sitting in my fireplace in ashes," Jaffar answered.

"How convenient," Anko remarked, as she looked down again at the paper detailing Heath's information and the order to hunt him down. In the end, his sacrifice is worth nothing. He will be hunted down for a piece of notepaper that never even really reached the queen. _I'm sorry, Heath. I'm so, so sorry._

"His Majesty misses nothing," Jaffar said, his eyes still fixed on Anko, examining her expression to figure what she was thinking. "Even if Heath had never disappeared he would not be safe forever when the King figures that he knows too much for Kumiko's friend."

_But we could have kept him safe. Kumi and I could have kept him safe._ "I know that," Anko said. "His Highness has always kept a close watch on Heath. He knew that if anyone were to talk, it would be him, judging from his nature."

"And yet Heath achieves nothing, thanks to me," Jaffar noted. And then he told Anko, "And now, that is another favor done for you by me. When will I get a benefit, Anko? Have you found anything about my children?"

That was Jaffar's weakness, that was what made him easy to control—his family. Anko very well knew that weakness and exploited it. He knew Jaffar was too keen and too skilled to miss anything in the war. He would hear too much, see too much, and would make Kumiko aware of everything he knows. Not what Anko wanted—so she had bought Jaffar's silence with the promise that she would help her find his twin boys. He agreed to this, and surprisingly, even to the notion that Kumiko be kept out of the details of the war. _She knows too much, she ends up getting swayed by her anger. We lose an ace, _Jaffar had said_. _He understood what Kumiko's role as Zephiel's wife meant in this war, what her potential could be.

"I trust you haven't forgotten your promise," Jaffar told Anko. He told it in his usual monotone—and yet with his stare it sounded like a threat.

"Of course I haven't," said Anko, dismissively. She had never forgotten. Though at first she thought a pair of boys with green hair wouldn't be so hard to find. For all her spies throughout Elibe, none of them have spotted a pair of twins with green hair. _They could be dead, for all I know._ "I don't forget, Jaffar."

He turned around as if to leave, but then he stopped and turned towards her again, as if he had forgotten something. "I'd like you to know that sooner or later Kumiko is going to get a whiff of something about the war. My wife, too. Nino has spent her days endlessly trailing everything the king reads and trying to draw parallels with them. With some luck, she'll find a similarity in history, in mythology, in dragons. And my wife can be very, very lucky with such things."

_Ah, so they were looking at Zephiel's trail. I tried that before and have seen that recurring theme of history, myth, and dragons. But I can't make sense of it—only that Zephiel is researching the dragons because he is using them as weapons, after all. But two of the country's brightest female scholars—Kumi and Nino—might be able to see something else. _"It doesn't matter," Anko said. "They might see the recurrence, but unless they hear facts and see a dragon for themselves, they wouldn't believe it. And who knows? They may be able to unravel this. They may figure out why King Zephiel has started war."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Sage's Study

Kumiko, clad in gown of red and gold, sat silently alone in one of the reading alcoves in Bern Keep's Library. A firelight was flickering on the table as Kumiko read, for the umpteenth time, a chapter about King Desmond's reign.

He was the same man Kumiko had met ages ago with the man written down in books. Ambitious, greedy, powerful. Yet for all his determination, for all his ambitions, he was not gifted with the talents to match them. He was never a great warrior, or scholar, or diplomat, or builder. His relationships were as the relationships of most kings were—your friends were your friends because of your power, and your men followed you because you are king. Everything in his rule was pretty much... ordinary.

...Which was exactly what Zephiel was not. Zephiel was skilled—he had only to put his hand on one thing, and he was bound to master it. Whether it was a weapon or a musical instrument or the pen, Zephiel excelled. He had only to watch how something was done, and he would learn how to do it himself. He had only to read a poem or law or edict once or twice, and he would later sharply recall what it was about and be able to recite it. And yet he never grew too proud; he remained kind. And so almost everyone Zephiel encountered loved him. Men followed him and listened to him because they respected him, because they adored him.

He was everything his father was not, or never became.

And so, as Zephiel grew older, growing more brilliant each day, so did King Desmond's jealousy grew. He doubted Zephiel was his son. The very sight of him just made the king angry and spiteful. Praises about Zephiel tended to make the king's mood shift. He was still alive, and he was still king, but already he was eclipsed by his brilliant son. He has accomplished nothing yet but his son, it seemed, was accomplishing _everything._

The jealousy grew worse, and worse. Zephiel was disinherited. He was never given a role or position in court—the king did not want to give him any more opportunities to excel. And yet, the people still loved Zephiel. Until finally, not just once—King Desmond tried to kill his own son.

None of his plans succeeded. And luckily for King Desmond, Zephiel never fought back. He could have easily led a coup d' eta against his own father, against his own country, yet he didn't. All he wanted was his father's love.

Until the last straw that made everything crumble came. One day, Zephiel finally fought back, and took the throne.

_And here we are now, _Kumiko thought. _Here we are at present, in this war. And all of this started with one man's irrational jealousy. _

_All of this started with one man's insecurity._

"Kumiko!" An excited yell echoed throughout the library, and Kumiko turned her head and found Nino, running towards her with such a huge smile on her face. The sage ran to the queen's side, exhausted from running, yet for all her panting her smile never vanished. The news she had to tell the queen was just too good. She whispered it to the queen, gladness in her voice.

"Do you speak truly? Honestly, Nino?" Kumiko asked. "Ostia has resisted? Bern has fled Lycia?"

"Yes!" Nino confirmed, looking excited. "Yes, yes, yes! This is good news, Kumiko. Good news for now."

…_For now. _

Kumiko's joy receded, as she recalled other facts about the war. "But Ilia and Sacae are not yet set free. Etruria and Lycia working together will never be an easy enemy, but one loss never meant the end of a war. Sometimes, a loss just fuels a desire to get even. What point is there in rejoicing now, if this just means Bern will come back for Lycia, with more forces, more strength?"

Nino's joy slipped, too, but she tried to remind Kumiko of better things. "Lycia, with Etruria's aid, would be prepared. They would have better chances for defending themselves."

"…Not against Bern," said Kumiko. "Not against the mighty Bern."

"…But we have peace," Nino pointed out. "Peace… for now."

Kumiko nodded, as she looked over the view from the balcony, head turned towards the west, towards Lycia. Peace… for now. Lycia, at least for now, could sleep tight. At least, for now, they had good news to keep their spirits up. They had peace for the hour, for the day, for _now_, but no one could really tell how long it would last.

No one, it seemed, but one man. Only Zephiel could tell. Only his words, his thoughts, his goals, his whim or desire, could tell if Lycia was ever going to have peace from Bern.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | Bern Keep, one week later

Much to Zephiel's surprise—and even to Kumiko's own—she had kept her mouth shut and chose to be cautious for the past week. Zephiel was irritable at best for a few days, angry and fumbling at the slightest mistakes of his servants, no matter how small. And so Kumiko refused to directly put herself against Zephiel's temper. She chose to avoid him, refusing to start conflict when she knew he was not in his best mood, and similarly, he avoided her, wanting the same thing.

Whenever she chose to talk to him, it would be calculated, careful. She would speak politely, and she stayed away from talking about the war. Whenever he complained or got angry for something his servants (which, to Zephiel, was every man and woman in Bern) did, Kumiko did not tell him to stop; instead she chose to move and see to it that the mistake was fixed as quickly as possible, so he could cease complaining.

And Zephiel noticed this. But he did not revel in it; it did not help his mood any. He knew why she was acting this way. She does not say it to him, but he knew that, perhaps, she was silently glad and thanking her gods that Ostia was spared and safe, and was thus content for the meantime. Her kindness was temporary, that he knew. One day, when his anger faded, when he was the one content, she would end up the one getting angry.

_Must we always be this way? One silently rejoicing at the other's failure?_

He watched her as she sat before their table that morning, pouring his wine for him. Breakfast was laid out at the table before her, though he saw none of the servants serve it. It was, for the past few days, the visage that greeted him as he woke up. On ordinary days, Kumiko would not be caught serving him in the morning. But the past days, she chose to, taking pity on the servants that he scolded.

She would greet him and attend to him all throughout the day, but in the way a polite servant would, rather than a wife. At times, it eased him, yet at other times, he knew that all of it was just a mask, that after the initial ill temper he had for Narshen's failure has passed, she will return to whatever she was before, half-lovable, half-annoying, a woman always asking questions. Her kindness will fade, her submission will fade eventually. So he cannot revel in it at all. He cannot be complacent.

...Contentment can be a fickle thing, Zephiel knew. Sometimes, it can be a very, very potent illusion. He was not falling into that trap. Whatever Kumiko did, he vowed to never forget that the truth was, she didn't even trust him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Inner Gardens

"I hope his majesty's ill mood has quelled," Nino whispered to Kumiko, as the latter bent down to pick some roses from their bushes. "Has the storm passed, Kumiko?"

Kumiko gave a little shrug as she arranged the roses into her basket. "I can't tell. He has barely talked to me. I think he's evading me in fear that I would say _something_." And then Kumiko looked behind her back, to her attendants, to see if they were busily chattering or gathering flowers, busy enough not to eavesdrop on her and Nino. A few days in a month, Kumiko would take her ladies and take flowers and or herbs from the vast gardens, and they would take them back into the castle rooms to decorate them. Kumiko leisurely walked a pebbled path with Nino and her attendants, with flower-filled baskets at their arms. Jaffar, too, hovered among them, a silent defender always on the lookout for threats.

"Almost week has passed," Nino pointed out. "Does he still hold ill feelings for that failure in Ostia? Too long has passed for this, don't you think so?"

_Too long_. Kumiko wondered just how long was too long. Two years had passed since Zephiel's father had died, and yet he still hated him. Almost thirty years has passed since her blood father abused her mother, and Kumiko still hated him for it. _How long is too long?_

"...Zephiel barely fails," was what Kumiko found to tell Nino. "He is much used to success and praise, and is a little perfectionist himself. He expects his servants to be as brilliant. I understand why he is not taking this well."

Nino almost replied, but then she heard the ladies whisper among themselves. Kumiko and Nino turned to find them dropping into curtsies, as a man stood before them on the marble path, tall and statuesque.

Nino dropped down into a curtsy as well, seeing who the man was. "Good day, my lady queen," General Murdock greeted, offering a little bow.

Kumiko returned it with a curtsy of her own, dipping low as if she were faced with a king—or a king's father. "Good day, General Murdock."

He was dressed down—as dressed down as the Great General Murdock could afford. He was wearing armor, but he was not covered by it, unlike the days when Bern was actively in war and Lord Murdock—and any other soldier of Bern—practically slept in their armor, as if expecting an attack or to go on the attack any time of the day. And yet, for the past few weeks, Bern was more relaxed than it has ever been. Even with the failure at Lycia, Bern has not gathered its forces yet, has not retaliated at all. It almost looked as if they were on the retreat, even if such thing was highly impossible for the mighty Bern.

"For his majesty?" Murdock asked, glancing at the flowers at Kumiko's arm.

Kumiko immediately shook her head. "These? No—they are only for the Keep, for decoration. And I honestly doubt that flowers are the cure to the king's ill mood."

"Mayhap not the cure, but they will help," Murdock said. And then again he gave her a small bow and said, "Now, if you will excuse me, milady. I beg your leave."

Kumiko gave him a little nod, and with that he walked off, the queen's attendants parting and making way for him. Kumiko stared long at the general's back as he walked away. She knew that if anyone in Bern was closest to the king, it was Murdock. He was more than a general. He was more than a loyal vassal. He could very well be called the king's father.

"Lord Murdock," Kumiko called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. The general turned to face the queen again, an inquiring look on his face. "You aren't too busy, I hope? Can I invite you to a little stroll by the gardens? I promise it will not take long."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The gardens of Bern Keep was one of its many prides—there were countless indoor and outdoor gardens in the Keep, all beautifully maintained and decorated with fine infrastructures. There were different kinds of flowers, trimmed lawns and bushes, fountains and artificial ponds and falls. The best of Bern's landscapists were all featured in the gardens, dating from time immemorial.

The queen walked with the general in those gardens, treading through a pebbled path towards a fountain. She walked ahead of him, leading the way, and for a while she did not speak, deciding to take her time. In her silence, General Murdock spoke ahead of her and honestly said:

"I do not know if you are aware, but I would think you have eyes and ears in the Keep as well. You would know that every soldier and servant of Bern Keep is forbidden to casually talk about the war."

Ah, General Murdock. Always so keen. "But I'm afraid it must be talked about," Kumiko said, as she sat by the fountain, putting down her basket of flowers at her side. "My married life—and every other aspect of my life as well—revolves around it. My husband's ill mood is caused by this war as well."

"I would advice you to not discuss war with him at the moment," said Murdock. His face looked as solid as ever, but he was also biting back his words, careful not to say too much. A soldier of Bern must never say too much. "It would only cause him more annoyance. He needs someone's comfort and assurance in this failure."

"But I—" But I delight in that 'failure', Kumiko almost said, and in the nick of time she bit her lip before the words came out. The words could be judged as treason; she could not afford to say them. "But that is exactly what I do," Kumiko said, making a recovery. "For a week now I have not spoken to him about anything; I have not complained. I serve him silently. And yet he still acts ill-tempered around me, as if in fear that I would say something and slap the failure to his face when it should already be very clear that I would not. I sometimes wonder if he only acts that way when I am around. It is almost as if he is evading me."

Murdock gave a long, thoughtful look at Kumiko. She sat there by the fountain, looking back at him expectantly, waiting for a response. She was a woman who did not make enough friends among the courtiers of Bern Keep; she stuck to her circle. But, she was courteous to him, and treated him with great respect and kindness and talked to him intelligently, as if there was not one topic under the sun that she was not in knowledge of. Except for her married life, except for her husband. Usually, she came to him with her problems about her husband, as if expecting the general to know him better. Which was, in more than one ways, true.

"His Majesty fears nothing, most especially not spoken words," said Murdock. "But he may resist the urge to speak to you or say anything, in his desire to not start an argument. If there is one thing His Highness might fear, it would be starting an argument with his wife."

Kumiko gave a little laugh—she knew that was so untrue. After all, how many arguments had occurred between him and her? Especially of recent—they were too many to count. "Please spare me the flattery and tell me the truth, my lord," she said.

"But that is the truth," Murdock insisted. "The king does not like fighting within his own soldiers. He does not like fighting within his own servants, not even with his own generals. He will not be glad about fighting with his own wife. He is a true Bernese—and that is how we are. Too proud to be caught fighting among ourselves."

Kumiko caught on one key word—_proud_. It is the image of peace that we want, not the actual peace. We are just too proud of who we are. That we are the strongest, that we are the best. But the only truth is that we are the proudest, be it for good or bad. "You disagree with this war, too, don't you, my lord?" Kumiko asked.

Yes, Murdock wanted to say. But he would not allow himself to say it. "I follow my orders," said Murdock. "My opinion about anything hardly matters. These are the king's matters for him to decide on."

Kumiko gave a little frown. So, he would not side on her. He would be loyal to Zephiel. Murdock may be logical and care for the country as well as the continent, and he may not be one for senseless warring and bloodshed, but he still put his loyalty to his liege above that. "…You were always like the father he never had for him. Zephiel told me that," Kumiko said, voice sounding like an appeal. "You know anything you say, he will hear out. Next to him, you are the most powerful man in Bern that I know of."

He knew what she was trying to say. _You are the second most powerful man in Bern. If anyone can make a stand against this, it would be you. _But he could not just do that. "My lady queen, you know that if your lord husband sets his mind to something, he does not stop until he achieves it. He will do want what he wants; it doesn't matter who gets in the way."

The sorrow in the queen's face became more etched; nothing he was saying was making her feel better. "...So you think this war is going to continue? You think he shall pursue Lycia, or maybe Etruria?" she asked.

"I cannot tell. I do not know."

The queen gave a visible frown, and in a moment of irritation, she angrily slapped the water in the fountains so that it splashed upwards. And then she looked up to the general again.

"No, Murdock," she said. "I am the one who cannot tell and does not know. I hide nothing from Zephiel—I tell him what I like and don't like and what I hate and I do not. I have no secrets. But how could he hide all this from me? How could he?"

She was angry. She was disappointed. She was betrayed. And somewhere, in his heart, Murdock understood the feeling.

But Murdock just said, "...Sometimes you keep your secrets only from those who you love the most."

Kumiko turned back to the general, looking puzzled, as if he had just spoken in another language. "How can you say that? What do you mean by that?"

"There are many things you want to share to a loved one," Murdock explained, "Yet many times, there are also many secrets, many things you think they are better off not knowing. It would complicate things; it would give them one more thing to think about. Or it could be dangerous if you said it, and it would be better kept unsaid. There is much wisdom in not talking as there is in talking."

Kumiko thought on that long and hard, and tried to figure out what that meant for him. _So he thinks Zephiel is keeping secrets because it is what is better for us?_ "But what about honesty and transparency? What about relying on each other?"

"Keeping a secret is not lying. It is simply keeping your mouth shut," said Murdock. "That is what your husband thinks. You seem to believe in different things. I think these differences are causing your problems, my lady."

_That is stupid. You tell everything to the people you love. But then again... Zephiel has done this before, too. Keeping things from me, from others, so that they will not be burdened. That is his belief. That is how his mind works._ "Then how do I overcome this?" Kumiko asked aloud. "How do I understand him more?"

"Adapt to him" Murdock suggested. "You are aware of your differences. You have an idea of how he thinks. Bend to it, my lady. If you think long on it, you will understand."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Men were certainly, at times, very cryptic. You never really understand what they want.

Much as the male gender thought otherwise, Kumiko was convinced that men were certainly the more difficult gender. Women may be mercurial and moody, but they wore their emotions on their sleeves; if you looked close enough, you always knew what a woman wanted. She could be easily be won over by sweet words or thoughtful gifts—yes, sometimes, she could be easy. Whenever she wanted something, whenever she _felt_ something, she said it. She expressed it. She revealed it. It was obvious.

Men—or, to be fair and exact, Kumiko thought, _Zephiel—_wascertainly cryptic and elusive. He never really revealed what he wanted, he never expressed his inner desires and conflicts and hurts. He hid it, he buried it, he might have pretended it did not exist. He controlled his emotions, he kept them in check, he would never so quickly reveal them. Everything he did, it was done for a reason, for a good, logical reason and barely of sheer emotion—that sometimes, it seemed, he had no emotion at all.

…_Maybe it's because, this is what culture and society tells us, especially us Bernese._ Men are supposed to be _men_. They aren't supposed to express everything they feel, most especially if it is a weakness. They were only worth their rank or how much they earned or what they achieved and how strong they were.

_In a sense, that makes them no different from us women._ We are judged only for our beauty, or the marriages we make or the number of our children. But if we are no different, how can we be so _different?_

"…Does your father say anything he wants? Does he keep no secrets from you?" Kumiko's thoughts made way for a question to her attendant Miranda, who was with her in her sitting room, humming as she stitched the golden embroidery in what she was sewing to be her father's shirt. The young heiress looked up from her stitching to the queen, puzzled at the sudden question.

"I would not be so proud as to say that my father keeps no secrets from me," said Miranda. "But whatever he can part with and tell me, he does."

"But he tells you of his emotions? Of his hurts, his desires? The things men do not usually say?"

Miranda began to look genuinely puzzled. "He… speaks of them when he has to. Vaguely. In that certain, witty courtier way that he always does. Why do you ask, my lady?"

"Just a curiosity," Kumiko immediately answered. "I'm just trying to unravel the mystery of men."

Because, men were certainly mysterious.

From Zephiel to Murdock to Jaffar, even to seemingly charming men like Matthew or Legault. The latter two keep their secrets well as well; only they opt to hide behind charm to mask their pains. Even the supposedly more open men like Sain were still a mystery; his joyful, jovial demeanor will always be so animated to a point of planned out—it was as if the true Sain will never be unveiled, and does not plan to be. Because that is what culture dictated? That men were supposed to be solid and strong, never sharing their weaknesses or fears? Even to the people they love the most?

…_Ridiculous. You hide nothing from the people you love the most._ Kumiko thought of men like her mentor, Alecto, who was by all means the definition of a strong, brilliant man—and yet kept nothing hidden from his wife or his daughter. Of men like Mark, who is a great tactician and great man, and yet is unafraid to say his fears, his worries… Men, too, must share their emotions. _Only they chose who to share it to._

"You tell Nino everything, don't you?" Kumiko asked Jaffar once.

Jaffar said, "Of course," almost automatically. "She is my wife. Why should I keep secrets from her?" …_And if I do keep secrets from her, they are always for her own good._

"...If only all husbands were like you, Jaffar."

Jaffar replied, "If only all wives were like Nino. Open and trusting. I am never in fear of telling her anything because I know she will never be quick to judge."

Men, too, share their emotions, Only they chose who to share it to. Was I not worthy of Zephiel's trust? Does he think I will be quick to judge?

…_Maybe he does. After all our arguments, I am not the perfect candidate for sharing anything, any inner thought with. At all._ "And so the fault is mine…?" Kumiko whispered silently, to the air.

Jaffar—too skilled to not hear even the tiniest whispers—caught on Kumiko's thoughts and then solemnly offered his wisdom. "If I may, Kumiko? …Trust is a two-way lane. You do not trust someone who is not worth trusting. And for men, we barely trust someone who does not trust us herself. Do you trust him yourself?"

"I tell him everything—"

"Telling someone every little thing does not equal to trust," Jaffar quickly said. "What about things that you do not tell, things that you do not share? Things that you hold back?"

"W-What do you mean?" Kumiko asked, all of a sudden nervous at Jaffar's implications. "You mean to say my body, am I right? Am I?"

"Well, that _is_ part of what I am—"

"Why is it that you men always want the same thing!" Kumiko exclaimed, raising her voice a little, alarming even the usually composed Jaffar. She just cut in his sentences like a woman offended. "Why must we always have to prove ourselves by giving in to a man's physical desires? It that the only expression of trust that men acknowledge?"

"…His Majesty is your husband," was all that Jaffar said, refusing to go beyond that and explain further. He knew Kumiko would do the elaborations and explanations further in her head. Surely Kumiko knew that thread of reasoning all too much, with many people—and maybe even her own husband—repeating it to her. Jaffar refused to travel down that path and potentially annoy Kumiko.

Instead, he said, "I sincerely hope you get over whatever sense of fear you may have for that issue, but if I may also say that, no, it is not the only expression of trust that men acknowledge. It is not the only way we feel that a woman trusts us. There are other ways."

Kumiko looked up to him, and the expression on her face was clearly asking, "How?"

"...You appeal to the male nature. Such as, it is in men's nature to protect," Jaffar said. "And so you allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of him. Share your pain. Share your secrets. The intimacies you would only tell your closest friends. There must be something there to share that you have never told him yet." _Because no man or woman ever runs out of secrets._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Grand Ballroom

_Men love to feel like men. To feel like protectors, to be the answer to every woman's problem, to be a refuge. To feel powerful, in a sense. That is why women appeal to us. They are the softness in contrast to our strength._

Kumiko couldn't help but feel puzzled as she thought back on Jaffar's statements. She had always thought Jaffar to be an intelligent man, but for him to talk like that, as if some philosopher or scholar, was unexpected. But then again what would you expect from the man who used to be one of Bern's greatest assassins? He must have watched people more closely than any ordinary man, must have pondered on things people usually do not ponder on. Strengths. Weaknesses. Human desires.

_And is that why you fell in love with Nino?_ she asked him. _Because she is soft and feminine, the contrast to your strength and steel?_

_That would be one way of putting it_, Jaffar said. _I was stained and dirty. She was pure and innocent. She was what I needed. What made me feel complete. Could you figure what would make your husband feel that way?_

Kumiko glanced at the man beside her, seated on his throne, watching over all his courtiers as they danced and conversed and made merry, the expression on his face distant and still somewhat annoyed. What did he need? What would make him open up and trust her and tell her his secrets?

_If I trusted him with mine, will he tell me his, too? There was no telling that._ Now that Kumiko thought on it, Zephiel was always guarded, elusive. Even in the days when they were getting along well, he usually wanted to talk about _her _as opposed to about himself.

_How will he trust me when I seem like his mortal enemy more than his wife? _

He caught her staring at him, and he turned to her. And for a moment, the annoyance on his face shifted to puzzle. "Why are you staring? Is there something on my face?"

_...I never meant to be his enemy_, Kumiko thought. _I never wanted to. I never even dreamt of it._ "Nothing," she told him, as she reached out to him, to hold onto the hand that he had resting on his throne's armrest. He visibly jerked at the contact, surprised. And then she asked, "Will you humor me, my lord, and dance with me? We should enjoy the evening."

"I don't feel like it. You have my permission to ask someone else."

She gave him a pleading little smile and said, "No one dances as well as you do, my lord. And you know I dance so horribly that I will probably trip over anyone else. You are the only one who leads so well that I don't commit those errors."

He looked at her with disbelief, as if a man trying to figure a false coin from the real one. But in a second, he decided to get up, and oblige her. "Just one dance," he told her, as he led her down from her chair. "And then I shall leave and go to bed. All the noise makes me feel ill."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Everything fit into place, as she danced with him. It almost seemed as if, along with the music, memories of two years past came back to her mind.

...He was strong; he was dependable. She was weaker and easily got tired; she was shaky and unpredictable.

...She liked to talk about herself and share stories of her adventures; he liked to be the one listening to them.

...He was never truly one for the wait. When he wanted something, he constantly kept at it until it was his; she took her time.

...She liked to listen to music, to dance to music. He liked to be the one orchestrating it.

The little things, the big things, they all came back to Kumiko's mind. He and I were different. But never in the way that it made us argue. We complemented. Strong where the other war not, patient for when the other one was impatient. We... completed each other. In a way.

And then, for the first time, she felt that she wanted to understand him—and not only because she wanted to figure out why he started the war. Because she truly, absolutely did.

He looked down at her, bewildered. He was surprised to find her face flushed as she looked down from him, almost coyly. And then she looked up to him again and asked, "Are you still angry at me, Zephiel?"

"...I was angry at you?" he asked, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

She gave a slight nod. "You are angry at all your servants and subjects. You yell at them for the slightest mistakes. And you barely talked to me the entire week, too. Did I do anything wrong? Are you angry at me?"

She sounded so... _innocent_, that for a moment there, he believed that she was, that she knew nothing about the defeat in Lycia, so she could not understand why he was ill-tempered and evasive. "No, of course not," he said, "you did nothing wrong. I... I'm sorry. I wasn't angry at you. I would never be angry at you."

She smiled, and gave him a little embrace. The entire court watched in silent awe and thought that, maybe, they were witness to the end of the king's ill temper, and Bern Keep would resume to its former peace.

0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Four days later

They were right—the king's storm of anger had died down, much to everyone's relief. His servants and courtiers breathed easier, knowing the king would no longer throw a string of barbed words for every little mistake he saw. Appeals were now thrown at his footsteps, praises to his greatness, greetings for his victories, when before everyone was scared to talk to him or step anywhere near his path. This caused much rejoicing among the men and women of Bern Keep. It seemed like the dark days of Narshen's loss were over and hardly mattered anymore. The Wyvern General, of all people, was the happiest about the fact.

But the king never forgot the failure. It just so happened that something more puzzling was taking his thoughts.

He watched, bewildered, as Kumiko continued to act kind towards him—even after he had already clearly told her that he was not angry at her and after he had stopped frightening his servants with his ill temper. He understood why she was silent and understanding when he was visibly angry—she did it out of fear. But why would she still be kind even after that has passed? There was no point after that. _Is she that happy of his loss at Lycia that she could take it this far?_ That as long as he was making no move at war, she would be kind?

Or was she simply tired of the arguments, tired of the fighting, tired of resisting?

_That doesn't make sense. She isn't usually like this. Not the past weeks and days ago. People are only kind to you when they want something._

But she was unfailingly good to him—serving his meals every morning instead of his servants, seeing to everything he needed, helping with some of his duties, and asking him to spend time with her and dance with her every evening. She was flawless in her choice of conversation—she was pleasant, she was not demanding, she did not have that tone of hidden _grudge_ that he always seemed to make out from her voice. And why was that?

_A trick? Manipulation? Using charm and kindness to get something?_

_But... that was odd._ Kumiko had tried this already in the span of this war. Kumiko always tries this when she wants to get something she wants. But she could never stick to it. She could never stick to acting kind to someone when that isn't what she actually feels. She cannot stomach the lying, the pretending. Sooner or later her intentions show.

But, four days, that is a record. What if she actually _wants_ this?

_...Who am I kidding? Why would she? People are only kind to you if they want something. People only use love to get what they want. You can never really trust anyone._

But then that evening, and the evenings before that, she actually waited for him to get to bed. It was a challenging task, because he stayed up so late and she was barely one to do that. And yet she stayed up. While he read in his study and told her to go to sleep, he would come back to find that she was instead pored over a book, reading, or writing, or working on her embroidery, suppressing her yawn. And she would wait for him, and climb into bed with him, but she would say nothing and ask for nothing, and would just quickly fall asleep.

And he would only pull his arm around her sleeping form, wondering what she needed.

000o0o0o0o0o0

The answer—or a variant of it, came the next evening. Zephiel entered their bedchambers late in the evening—kept from sleeping by an urgent meeting—and was still a little surprised to see Kumiko awake, sitting on the carpeted floor before a low table with a small lamp, finishing the embroidery for a piece of cloth that was to be sewn to be her gown. Kumiko was barely interested in the craft, but she started to do it these days, a way to kill time as she waited for him.

"It's late. I thought you'd have slept already," he said, breaking the silence, as he took off his cloak and hung it over a chair.

She heard him for the first time, and was startled, pricking her forefinger with the needle. "Careful," he said, as she put her finger to her mouth, sucking on it. "It's too dim to be sewing. You should have slept. It's too late."

"I was waiting for you," she said, with alertness in her tone that by all means said that she was still wide awake. She looked up to him, but then she found him undressing, changing from the royal garments that he wore for the day into a sleeping robe. She quickly looked away. She always found it ridiculous that he had to change into or out of his clothes in their very bedchamber, when there was a dressing room a few steps away. But then again, he was alone in these rooms for a long while before she came along. He was used to it. "You haven't given me leave to sleep yet," she said. "I have to wait for you to allow it before I get to bed."

He knew very well that that was not her reason. He had waited for over a week now for her to say what her reason truly was. He knew that one day, one evening, she would show her motives. But he was tired of being puzzled and waiting. He was going to confront her about it. As soon as he finished dressing himself, he drifted towards her and sat with her.

"...Is there anything you need to tell me?"

Kumiko only looked up to him, absolutely bewildered. "Your Majesty?"

"What do you _want_ from me?" he asked, tone confrontational. "Go ahead and tell me what it is!"

"...I don't understand what you're talking about," she said, a little frightened, but still puzzled. "Did I do anything wrong, Zephiel? Are you angry again? _What did I do?_"

He looked at her with disbelief. _Is she lying? Does she truly not understand what I am talking about? So this isn't a scheme?_ He studied her again and found her fearful, afraid of his anger—but not one hint guilty. That was odd. Usually Kumiko could be read like an open book. Hiding her true intentions and emotions was not her strong suit. When did she develop this skill for deceit?

But he shook his head to himself and knew that Kumiko was too proud and honest to carry a deception of such scale. It was his turn to feel guilty, accusing her of something horrible for being good. "...I'm sorry," he said. "...I've had a long day," he offered, as some sort of excuse.

She dropped her embroidery to the table, and the look of fear in her eyes quickly shifted to concern. "Are you feeling ill? Would you like to go to bed already? Or maybe something to drink or eat?"

She actually got up as if to call for a servant or get some food or wine, but then he quickly took her by the wrist and said, "No, Kumiko. I'm alright. There's no need for anything."

She stopped, and a silence took over. Not knowing what to do, Kumiko took her seat on the floor again, picking up the embroidery that she had been working on and resuming to it.

Zephiel watched her, as she filled out the intricate pattern of a snowflake onto red cloth with gold thread. She was getting better at it. As was typical of Kumiko—if she is taught something, she learns it. She was as quick to learn as he was. "...How was your day?" Zephiel asked, a bit awkwardly, as he had been, a way or the other, accusing her a second ago and was now trying to talk to her as if nothing odd was going on.

And then he realized that, maybe, nothing odd was truly going on. He remembered two years past. Kumiko always slept before he did, but she always waited for him in their chambers before she actually climbed to bed. And before she slept he would talk with her for a while, about her day, about his. It was only when she found out about the war was the pattern upset; she moved out of their shared chambers and refused to wait on him.

_Does she forget so easily? It's like the war never happened. If I didn't know any better I'd think that the attack on Ilia and Sacae has not even started, that I dreamt all of it._

She looked thoughtfully into her sewing as she answered. "Nino and I spent all day looking through the bolts of cloth that the merchants from Liestal sent us. And following that, we started drawing different fashions of gowns. I actually drew one for Anko to gift to her sometimes." Kumiko said with a little smile. "...And so now I am laden with embroidery, for all those new gowns we shall have made."

He laughed a little. " ...And I am assuming that I already know who is going to have to pay all the seamstresses. I am doing the paying, correct?"

She laughed, too. "Of course. You are my husband," she said, as if she expected every husband in the realm to just pay for everything their wives picked up. "And you should be thankful, too, since I and my ladies are all trying so hard to make sure you do not have to pay too much. That is why we're doing all the embroidery."

He laughed louder, and she laughed along with him. In their shared moment, it truly felt like the war never was and what was currently happening was a scene from two years back.

0o0o0o0o00o

"…Did you ever know my father?"

After they have talked about Kumiko's gowns, and the number of perfumes in her cabinet, and the affairs of the nation that were being reported to Zephiel by every minister of the land, a silence fell, and then, Kumiko just asked him that.

_Her father. What is this leading to? Another trick? _Despite the laughter he had shared with her earlier, despite how their earlier conversations played out as if no strife has ever occurred in their relationship, the question caused him to be alert, as if the word 'father' was the warning light that always caused him to be cautious. He looked at her cautiously, and she stared back at him; she had abandoned her sewing minutes ago. "If you refer to Alecto, yes, I know of him. He taught me battle tactics in my youth," he said, deciding to play safe and not start a discussion about horrible fathers.

"…Not him," said Kumiko. "…My blood father. Lord Regrada."

_Ah, so we __**are**__ going to discuss horrible fathers._ _Is this your motive, Kumiko? Is this what you want to talk about?_ "I remember him," said Zephiel, staring right at Kumiko's face, interested to see her reactions all throughout this conversation. Trying to calculate if all this was another trick to get his guard down. "You have the color of his eyes, his nose, the color of his hair…" Zephiel intentionally pointed out. He knew she hated it when people told her how much she looked like her father. "You look just like him."

Kumiko flinched, but she took everything and admitted to it. "Yes," she said. "I look like him. Did you ever know how I was born?"

"Through your mother. Because she let your father do something to her that you apparently would not let me do to you," he retorted sharply, on edge, already communicating that he didn't want to hear whatever it was she was going to preach.

She bit her lip, but she disregarded his remark, too engrossed in her narrative to care. "I was an illegitimate, Zephiel. He was married and she was married. I know such affairs happen a lot among courtiers and nobles and you're used to hearing them—but my mother was never a courtier. She was a Knight, goodness' sake! She tried to follow what was good and moral and true."

She looked so truly, painfully concerned about her narrative that he saw it and could not help but listen intently; he could not help but feel her pain and feel the desire to protect her from it. "She never wanted it. He forced her into it—some big, drunken sin. And I was born out of that. I was born out of someone else's expense."

"…I never knew that," Zephiel said, settling beside Kumiko, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder—if only because he wanted to see the pain in her face go away, even if little. _Even if this might be some trap—but now, I hardly think it is. _He knew Kumiko was an illegitimate child, but because he thought it was the way with all almost all illegitimate children of nobles. Like with Guinevere. Her mother knew what she was doing and knew that she was a mistress and that Guinevere would be an illegitimate, but she did it for the benefits that came with being connected to a powerful man. Kumiko's mother never wanted that.

"…And so she loathed you?" Zephiel asked, suddenly recalling what it felt like to be an unwanted child. "Because she never wanted you?"

"Oh, no!" Kumiko answered, as she shook her head. "She loved me. She did her best to love me. She and her husband did. But I… I always felt like I had to prove my worth. I thought if I worked hard, I could be great and they could be happy I was their daughter. But then he… Regrada… he called me back. After trying to hide me so many years and pretending that I didn't exist, he called me back. He was getting along in years and he didn't have a legitimate child, he had no heir. So he dragged me back to the castle and had me trained as a woman of the court and be educated. I despised all of it."

This part of the story he has heard from other sources like Anko, but never from Kumiko's very own mouth. "But he clothed you," he said. "Sheltered you. Educated you. Gave you access to books and art and literature. You never would be the woman you are now if he had never picked you up, Genevieve."

He defended her father like he had tried to defend his own father, years and years ago.

"I realize that," Kumiko said, letting Zephiel slip for calling her by her other name, her real name—Genevieve. He was the only one who really had leave to do it—because he and she knew that Kumiko was the commoner Strategy Queen; Genevieve was the woman with enough peerage and noble blood to be Queen. "I realize that he had brought some good things in my life. But I was just an object to him. To be married to some other lord's son that he could control to do his bidding. I was only good to be married, because I was a girl. And because I was a girl, I would only have to forever do what he, or the boy I would marry, would tell me."

And so he heard the words that were part of the recurring theme of Kumiko's insecurities—_I was just an object._ And then a realization hit him.

_That _was what she had been trying to tell him. _That _was what she needed from him, the reason she had been kind to him for over a week. She was not trying to trap him into saying something, into admitting some statement that she could use against him. She was _giving _him something, explaining herself, sharing one of her weaknesses.

...She was trying to prove her worth. She was trying to help him understand her.

She had told him about her weakness, about her frustration. Yet at the same time, she had been trying to prove that she was worthy—worthy of what, he didn't exactly know—but one thing was sure for him.

She wanted his assurance.

She had asked him, so many times, even before this war happened, even before they were married, about what he truly thought of her. _Am I just an object to you? Am I just a woman who you think will do as she is told?_

He had answered her always in the negative, back in the days. _Kumiko, I never saw you as an object. Nor do I think you will blindly follow a man for the rest of your life if you disagree with him. You're the Strategy Queen—you are your own person. How can someone ever think you merely an object?_ Whenever she would ask the questions again in her most troubled times, he would give her the same reassurances. _You're beautiful, Kumiko. You're smart. You're brilliant._ The song goes on and on. She was a woman who constantly, constantly, had to be reassured.

_It can be tiring to love a woman like you_, Zephiel thought, as he looked down at Kumiko, settling herself in the spread of his arms around her shoulders, trying to take comfort in it.

"I am scared of men," Kumiko admitted, out of the blue. "Of powerful men. The men that are so high up everyone around then could be nothing but mere toys to them."

_She wanted her safety. She wants to not have to fear. She wants to be able to trust me._ "...Men like me," he pointed out, knowing that that was where she was getting at anyway. "A man who can order for another man killed—and it shall be done. A man who can order a woman away from her husband so he could have her—and it shall be done because he wants it. Powerful men. Men like me."

"…Yes," she said. "Men like you. I am scared of men like you."

"You don't have to be," he said, quickly. "I am not like them. I will never be anything like them."

But then Kumiko frowned a little, and thought,_ You already are, Zephiel. You started a war. You don't care how many people die, how many families get destroyed, how much sweat and blood is shed. You are so high up, you can't be bothered to care about it. You are just like them. A part of me will always fear you._

"…You don't believe me," he said, backing away from her and looking at her with disbelief, after he saw the emotions that crossed her features—that look of worry, that look of… fear. "…You think I'm lying."

_Do you truly not realize it, Zephiel? Do you still think you are nothing like them?_

She gave him a little pained smile and he knew he was right.

"…And so this is my fate," he said, with a frown. _You want to be able to trust me. You want my assurance. And I have given it. I have given it ages ago, don't you see that? I married you and let you into my life even though I know that one day, though you are the woman I care about the most, you could also be the one who would cause me the most pain. Isn't that an assurance enough? I've assured you and told you so many times already. You just don't want to believe me. What do you truly want, Kumiko? _"Am I to be forever with a woman who despises me for something I am not?"

"I do not _despise_ you, Zephiel—"

"Then what is it you _feel _for me?" he screamed, and his voice echoed all throughout their chambers.

She did not expect him to do that. She did not expect him to start taking everything so badly. Usually, he would listen a little longer. Usually, he would try to soothe her and quickly assure her that he believed her. "Zephiel, I—"

He groaned as he got up, pacing the room, arms flailing around as he looked annoyed. To Kumiko it seemed that he was fighting back the urge to hit her or shake her violently. And then he turned to her and said, "Do you not know how _frustrating _it is, always with a woman who either hates you or loves you? Which is it? What do you truly _feel_?"

She was at loss for words. In two years, he had never asked her that. "I… I…"

"_Nothing," _he said, cutting her words short, getting ahead of her. "You feel _nothing_ for me, as you always do."

"I wouldn't have married you if I didn't—"

The expression on his face intensified, and she realized she had said something wrong, falling into the pit that he had fallen into once. "I _know _why you married me," he told her. "I never forget. You keep repeating them to me yourself—that you had no choice, that you were getting along in years yourself, that you wanted the influence and the power to be able to help others—it was never about me. I married you because you were in the way and you married me because you wanted the leverage it would give you. I am an object to you as much as you think you are to me."

"You know that's not true—!" Kumiko protested, raising her voice a little. But his words were familiar to her because two years ago, that was exactly what she was thinking. Those were her reasons for getting married to this man. For the leverage. For the power. For the influence. To be able to help more people than she could compared to working alone, as a tactician. While it was a far better reason to get married compared to him who just wanted her out of the way, it still meant the same thing: she married for herself. The other person was hardly to be bothered about.

"...Does it hurt, Kumiko?" he asked, with his own hurt in his voice and smile. "If it does, then you'll know that it is indeed true. Because that's how truth works. It always hurts."

She tried to speak, but she found that the words were lost to her. He turned his back on her and walked into his study, leaving her alone.

0o0o0o0o0oo0

It bothered her so much she couldn't get any sleep.

She lay in bed, restless in the thought, in the accusations that he launched against her. The idea of seeing Zephiel as an object was just absurd. He was a good-man, absolutely multi-dimensional—not just a piece, an object to move in a game. He was Zephiel. The most powerful man in Bern.

...But that was exactly the flaw of her idea of Zephiel. He is the perfect king. The perfect man. He doesn't hurt. He understands everything. He doesn't feel. He is _flawless._

But then for the first time, she saw him absolutely hurt and disappointed at her. He wanted her to feel something for him. He wanted her to treat him as a man that you grow feelings for as opposed to a man or an object that you always seem to expect to be there, to provide whatever you needed.

He wanted assurance, too. He wanted the same thing she wanted.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After a long while, she got up, and made the seemingly long walk to his study. She stood by the entryway, a hand holding the onto the wooden posts, as she looked at the king, seated on his chair in front of his desk, back turned to her.

She had to say it. She had to say it or else her conscience was not going to let her sleep.

"I'm sorry," she said, and was surprised by how easy it was to say the words despite how difficult it sounded to actually do it. "I'm sorry," she said again, louder and firmer this time. "I'm sorry if I said that, before. But I really did—and still do—admire you, Zephiel. Truly. I admit the opportunities and leverage this marriage gave me helped me decide as well, but above that... I trusted you, too. I knew you would take care of me. I believed you."

There was no reply; he said nothing, nor did he make a move to indicate that he heard her. For a moment she began to think that he was asleep, but just as she was about to go away, he spoke.

"...I know that," he said. "I know you too much, Kumiko. I just wanted to make sure you..." But then he shook his head and shook the words away. "Let's go to bed. We should get some sleep."

She nodded and she climbed into bed with him, but after a silence wherein she was still not sleepy, and she knew that he was not asleep as well, she started apologizing to him again. "I _am_ sorry, Zephiel. I want to know you believe it. I want to know that you're not just shrugging it off. What can I do to prove it to you?"

He turned towards her in bed, and looked at her seriously, as if trying to size up if she meant her words or not. "...Do you mean that? You'll do _anything_?"

She was sitting up in their bed, looking down at him. His question made her shiver a little, as if she knew what he was asking for. But there was no backing out now. "...Yes," she whispered.

But what he said was not what she expected. "What do you feel about me? I want to know. And what do you want?"

She was obviously surprised, so he let the words sink in for a moment. "Tell me what you want," Zephiel pressed, "so I know and I can stick with it and then hopefully there will be mo more arguments."

She was stunned for a moment, and relieved at the same time that Zephiel did not hold his anger or annoyance at her for her any longer and was already trying to make peace, and that he did not actually ask for what she was thinking a while ago, proof that he was not at all a typical, perverted noble. And then she thought long on his words.

_No more arguments. Is that what you want, Zephiel? Is that what you really desire? Peace between the two of us?_

"...What do _you _want, my lord?" she asked him.

_I want you. I want you to trust me. All I ever really wanted was your trust. Because you never gave it. You kept yourself distant behind your fears._ "I know you are afraid of men like me," he said, "but can't you find it in you to take away that fear, if only for me?"

_Not fear you? What would make me assured in your affections? You've called me an object, you said you should have just had me killed—that was your mistake. I will never forget that you said it, Zephiel. We've hurt each other too much already. _ "You are king with absolute power in the land," she told him. "You can do anything you want, have anything you fancy. Who would not be afraid of you?"

"Not my wife," he told her. "She is the only person in the land that has nothing to fear from me. I would never try to hurt her intentionally."

"Me?" she said. "I believe I've told you before—even queens are never secure. In fact, of all wives, they are the least secure. A king can simply throw her away if she wanted to. A king makes the law, he _is _the law. He can divorce his wife quicker than any man."

"I'm not going to let you go," he said, determinedly. If her talk was prelude to her once-desire of having their marriage over and done with and being dethroned—he has still not forgotten about that—he was not going to let it happen. _Every woman I actually cared about has slipped from my fingers. Mother. Guinevere. But not you. Not you, Kumiko._ "I would never throw you away and replace you. I would never take another woman." _Not like him. I will never be like him._

She looked away from him, still afraid to make a decision. She knew she had to try. _But when I think of how much more pain this might cause me in the end…_

He saw her fear, and so he inched closer to her and whispered, "I am not like them, Kumiko. I am not like your father. Or my father, either. I'm a different man. Someone you can trust."

Trust—_so he himself believed and knew that I didn't trust him_, Kumiko thought. He saw it, he noticed it, he knew all too well about her fear. _And yet how was he able to tolerate me all these years? Is it because he hardly cared about me at all or because he cared too much? Which is it?_ "I am afraid you will hurt me," she said.

He smiled a little and then fixed her brown-blonde disheveled hair away from her face. "Kumiko. Trust always comes at the risk of pain. I've learned that long ago, the hard way." _I've learned not to believe everything everyone said. I've learned that love is a pitiful excuse humans use to hurt each other. I've learned that you lie to the people you love the most. I've learned that when you trust—the smallest trust—you must always be prepared to get hurt. Promises were made to be broken. Trust was made to be tarnished by lies. ...And yet I still desire her trust. "..._When you trust someone, you do it despite the knowledge that he can hurt you."

She was silent, pondering his words in her head. He only smiled and then kissed the top of her head. "Tell me when you're ready. I'll wait until then."

**End of Part One.**

0o0o0o0o0o0

**Author's notes:**

**The reason I divided this Chapter into two parts is because I didn't want to confuse their agenda and theme and all that, but I didn't want to split the next part into a new chapter because it occurs in the same timeframe—that is, the deadly silence after Bern retreats from Lycia, which I imagined took months. It was an opportunity for me to fill things in, so I took it, before the 'Prologue' part of this fic ends.**

**And so, the themes and key points of Part One—reactions to this would be welcome, if you can afford them, but these are just a few things for you to think about if you want to take a break from reading: **

**Do you believe that in relationships, it is necessary to keep certain secrets? Or do you prefer to know everything about the other person? **

**In my last chapters, I went about the topic of gender discrimination against women; that they are expected to act a certain way because of gender. Now I explore the other side of the coin and think about the expectations from men. Do you think men keep more secrets than women, just because they are expected to talk less? Do you think they have it just as hard as women?**

**My ex-bf and I used to talk about gender roles so much—not in an argument, more of, in an intellectual manner. He talked of his awareness of weaknesses in the female nature, and how he (and probably most other men) uses them to his advantage. He said that a female weakness that he learned to use to his favor was the female indecisiveness. As long as the girl wasn't outwardly saying no, he knew he could change her mind and push for what he wanted instead. (I swear we sound like evil people to discuss that.) Though I've more than once used vulnerability to gain an advantage over a male, and it sometimes works (sometimes doesn't), what do you guys think is the real weakness of men that the other gender exploits? Or women? **

**Do you think it's alright to hurt the person you love the most for his or her sake?**

**And, on some random trivia from real life which has found its way to this novel: I find it odd, or it's just the men around my area, but they love staying shirtless or naked in their own home even if they don't have the best bodies on earth. My ex used to do it. He'll change his shirt in front of me (even when the bathroom is like, less than ten steps away). All my friend's boyfriend's act the same (They hang around their house shirtless or even nude even if their bodies aren't exactly works of art. I pity my friends for having to endure those sights.) My dad, according to my mom, is like that, too. They just like to feel so macho, even if they physically aren't. Err, why? Now I am puzzled.**

**ALRIGHT, ONTO SERIOUS AUTHOR'S NOTES. The next chap of The Journey will hopefully be posted this month, but it will also be cut into two parts. I have too much drama going on in real life, sorry. I fear everyone in this chapter is OOC, tell me what you think. Matt and Heath return at the next part, though this part mostly concentrates on our two main charas. I hope it didn't drag a lot for your tastes. Some stuff fresh off the keyboard, so if there are any major mistakes, please tell!**

**Thanks! Please review!**


	12. Differentiating the Similar

A/N: Major self-indulgent Matthew senseless fluff ahead. There are scenes from other characters here, but for the most part, this is a Matthew-fest. Anyone can skip this chapter and not miss anything is a FILLER. With that being said I don't entirely vouch for its quality.

**Warning: Slight suggestive things and vulgar language. Nothing too crass, though. **That's not my style, but it's included in here because it's what's natural.

I was inspired when I thought back on one of DarkBlaziken's comments. She said: "[Oh well, I'm a girl that fangirlsEtrurians. I like to believe there are guys that exist that are not perverts.]" Here is my take on that statement. Enjoy.

0o0o0o0o0o0

**THE ILLUSION OF CONTENTMENT | PART TWO**

_Differentiating the Similar_

0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | Along the River Rhine

Heath looked upward to the high sun, adjusting the band covering his head so it hung over his eyes a little more, to shield him from the light. He led Hyperion by the reins as they walked along Liestal, following the Rhine River towards its northbound course. Flying was not an option, unless he wanted himself to be quickly spotted by other wyvern knights. Only official riders of the military were allowed to ride wyverns, so that was not a way to proceed. But certainly, that aside, Heath was a free man.

He knew enough of the patrol patterns and the paths that soldiers tended to take to be able to walk within his own country undetected. Heath laughed at the idea that, fifteen years ago, when he was a wanted fugitive for a crime he did not commit, the knowledge would have certainly been handy. But he had not been a soldier for long that time—and now he knew much. Or, too much, which was exactly why he had to go away.

_You're not safe here,_ he remembered what Jaffar said, as soon as he handed him his little note. _You do realize this, to His Majesty, is treason, right? Are you sure you want to tell this to Kumiko? Do you have proof?_

_The proof is all around you, Jaffar. The soldiers know it, the Knights know it, the Generals know it—but they refuse to speak. And I refuse to be like them. I know this will put my life in danger. But whether or not I say anything, I know I will still be in danger either way. Some day the king will realize that I know too much. He might have me silenced—permanently. And so I'd rather leave and have a fighting chance than stay here and await certain death._

But much to Heath's surprise, life has not been _too _hard on him yet. On the first few days and weeks of his travel, if he ever ran across any soldiers, they still treated him with courtesy, as if he were still an esteemed Wyvern Knight of Bern instead of a fugitive. It seems something took the king's time and the document listing him as a traitor to his own country was not yet in circulation. Or, it might be Kumiko, getting her husband to spare him, covering for him.

Or, Heath thought, it could be the Master of Spies.

_...Wishful thinking, that._

Whatever the case, Heath still decided to not risk it and not be comfortable. He put on his disguise as a travelling man who made a living breeding wyverns. It was a decent cover—because he certainly knew a lot about wyverns—and it also explained why he had Hyperion. The days passed that no one recognized him, no one knew him—or knew the past him. It seemed like a different life. Slowly the cover was starting to consume his mind and become his reality. And so Heath began to wonder what he truly wanted now, now that the sparkle of knighthood and loyalty to a liege was long lost to him.

BERN-SACAE BORDER | A log cottage

_My dear Kumi,_

_If you receive this letter, you are to burn it as soon as you read it. Much as I risk this letter getting intercepted, or worse, bringing you trouble, I risk it for the chance to tell you that your godchild Roy of Pherae has successfully recaptured Ostia and rescued the Princess Lilina. My spiess have rushed to tell me of the great, great news. It is a day of celebration for all of Lycia. The Etrurian Army has also come to our aid and with them the remnants of Bern have been expelled from our lands. I know that you, a Lycian at heart as much as you are Bernese, would be delighted by this news. I do hope your husband would do better than to attack us again? But for now, I am overjoyed. Lycia is on the way to restoration and is recovering well with help from Etruria._

_Xarin sends her well wishes. _

Matthew placed his finishing touches on his letter: he signed his name at the end of the letter, folded it, and sealed it with some wax and a sealing ring—not his own seal, lest someone recognize it as the seal of Ostia. An entire month has passed since the recapture of Ostia, and Matthew wrote with a light and joyful heart. Whether or not he was actually going to send the letter was another matter, because the truth was, he only wanted someone to share the joy with—and a letter of joy on a piece of paper was enough to do that, even if he never sent it.

Of course there was Xarin, but she was barely a woman fit for that purpose. Whenever Matthew became comfortable, whenever Matthew had the opportunity to _breathe _and relax and shrug aside his responsibilities for one second—he could count on Xarin to spoil it and snap him to his senses. She would always tell him, _don't be comfortable, Matthew. Don't be complacent. Contentment can be deceiving_.

Because, Matthew thought, contentment could be a fickle thing indeed. If Matthew had forgotten all about the war waging outside of his comfortable cottage, he could have been fooled that none of it existed and was all a figment of his imagination. If he had stopped receiving the letters of correspondence from his spies, he could have thought that he was not a Master of Spies at all. If Xarin had stopped discussing about the war each and every evening at the dinner table, then he would have been convinced that none of it happened.

Sometimes, he would be tempted to make her stop talking about it, to talk about something trivial like the weather or the flowers or gossip at town, like most women would. She would talk about war, about the information given by their agents, about what they could mean, and the hidden fears and hints between the lines of every letter. _What move would best be done next? Matthew, what do you think did he mean when he wrote that? What do you think is happening as of this moment?_

But, thankfully, she would grow tired of that talk, too, after a long while. After she had exhausted her worries about the war, the trivial, normal talk would ensue. _There were soldiers all over the market, Matthew. Everyone is frightened to move around. The melons in the market look good, I'll buy some tomorrow. Are your wounds doing well? How does the food taste?_

Sometimes, he would be tempted to think that the war was not real and that their cover as a married couple living in the mountains was the reality. Much more with the recent victory of Lycia, much more with the inactivity of Bern for now, he almost felt like the nightmare was over and the reality was just beginning. He began to entertain other thoughts in his head—the little things that spywork had always forced him to push aside.

"Maybe we should open an inn, or a pub, or something..." Matthew said, somewhat dreamily, out of nowhere, one morning at breakfast with Xarin.

She looked at him as if he were absurd. He just laughed. "I could fetch a pretty penny selling the food you cook, Xarin. They always taste so good."

She shrugged off his compliment like she never heard it. "_What_ brought on that idea, Matthew?"

"My dad—if you didn't know—he runs an inn back home. It had a tavern and _I_ ran that before I became a spy, and then my mom was in charge of all the cooking, and my little sister kept the place clean. I kinda miss that work—of course, running the tavern and chit-chatting with all the travelers and soldiers was what made way for me to become a spy, but now, I've been dying to get back behind the bar and serve some warm, frothy ale."

She just blinked at him in disbelief, and he stared at her, a little offended, when he found that that was her only reaction. "_What?_ You look at me as if I'm stupid to have those desires."

She shook her head a little, but then she told him, "Don't be complacent, Matthew. This silence could be an illusion, for all we know. A trick. You can't let your guard down."

And then he would frown a little and he would ask himself: _What's wrong with being content? What's wrong with relaxing and keeping your guard down, even for a little while? If you keep yourself on the tips of your toes at all times, how will you ever live?_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Two Days Later

Wyverns were never suited to walk on the ground, and that was to Heath's disadvantage. His old wyvern mount, Hyperion, was itching to spread his wings and soar through the air after Heath had not allowed him to do it for around a week now. He could have gotten to wherever he was headed to days and days ago, if only he had taken to the skies with Hyperion. But it was better to be safe than sorry. Other wyvern knights of Bern had better chances of finding him if he took to the skies. He did not want that.

"Hang in there, Hyperion," Heath soothed his mount with words as he pulled on the wyvern's reins in an upward trail through some mountain. He knew that he was past the vast plains of Liestal now, following the upward course of the Rhine river through the mountain. He had no idea where he was going, and where he was going to end up. All he remembered were Jaffar's instructions of where to go. Jaffar had told him that he knew a place where Heath can stay if he planned to hide away for a while. Jaffar gave him a place and two names. _Theodore and Cecile,_Jaffar had said. _They helped me once, they'll help you, too, without a doubt._

He imagined what these two people looked like and what they had done to Jaffar to warrant the former assassin's trust. Theodore and Cecile… Maybe they were an elderly pair who took pity on Jaffar and helped him way back when he was hiding from bounty hunters. Elderly people were like that, they helped people without caring who he was or who was your enemy. Or maybe they lived too far from other people to _care_ about enemies. Surely, they lived in an obscure place. Heath had been trekking up the mountain for hours now, and the last living human he had seen would have to be a day away.

And then, finally, he saw a house.

It was a log cottage, like most of the houses in forests and mountains. The cottage seemed to be old—the timber used for it was certainly not new, with moss and plant life growing from it. However, the house seemed clean and lively. There was light from within, and smoke coming from the chimney. There was the smell of ginger in the air, as if someone had been boiling it. Surely someone lived there.

Heath walked up to the home, and then let go of Hyperion as he climbed up the front steps, cautiously looking around. The front door was open, and slowly he walked inside.

And then felt something hard, like a block of wood, hit him at the back. He fell face-first into the floor, and fainted.

From an inner room of the house, a man sitting on his desk chair peeked to see what the noise was about. He gasped a little when he saw Heath fainted on the floor, and then a woman standing over him, holding a thick wooden stick.

"That was the visitor we were expecting, you know," Matthew said, frowning a little.

Xarin shrugged, discarding the wooden stick she was holding, as if to say she had nothing to do with it. "You didn't tell me we were going to have a visitor." And then she bent down to check on Heath's breathing. "He's still alive. Just knocked out."

"Great," Matthew said, smiling. "Two's company, but three's a party. Aren't you glad Jaffar sent someone over?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN-SACAE MOUNTAIN BORDER | A log cottage

Heath opened his eyes to see a blurred image of what seemed like a face with sand-brown hair piled on top. The wyvern knight blinked a few times and with that his vision improved, and he was surprised to see a familiar face looking over him. That sandy brown hair and that grin was unmistakable. Even when he claimed to be a spy, Matthew had always stood apart, and was not easily forgettable.

"Hi there!"Matthew greeted, wearing a casual smirk as he waved his hands in front of Heath's face. "Are you with us already? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Is that… Matthew?" Heath asked, but Matthew seemed to not hear, proceeding to shove his hand holding up three fingers to Heath's face. "Three," Heath finally said, to satisfy Matthew's earlier question.

"Great. You seem mentally stable," Matthew said, sounding content, as Heath pushed himself to sit up from his position on the bed. When he did, he flinched, feeling pain in his back.

"Sorry, about that," Matthew said, shaking his head a little as he saw Heath's obvious pain. "Xarin thought you were some intruder." Heath looked around when Matthew said that, as if searching for signs of the female spy. Matthew noticed. "She's not here. Went to the nearby village to fetch a few things."

"…The nearest village is about a day away," Heath said.

Matthew gave a shocked look. "No it is not. Three hours at most. _What_ route did Jaffar tell you to use getting here?"

Heath told Matthew about the path he took, while Matthew listened and just nodded. "That's one way to get here. There's actually a shortcut that Ostian spies have worked on for years and Xarin and I use it. This place has been an Ostiansafehouse before I was born, I think. It's the perfect spot if you're observing Sacae or Bern."

Heath nodded, but inside he was wondering why Matthew seemed to be talking too loosely. He was telling Heath details that only a spy should know and make them sound like casual talk. It was either Matthew just badly needed someone to talk with, and was glad Heath was there, or it was Anko rubbing onto Heath, making him careful and critical.

"…You're working with Jaffar," Heath suddenly said, a realization.

Matthew took a chair and pulled it to the bedside. And then he shrugged. "I guess I am."

"He told me to come here because he said it was a place I could hide," Heath said.

Again, Matthew shrugged. "I guess it is."

"How long?" Heath asked, puzzled. The wyvern knight remembered the distant past—he, Matthew, and Jaffar had worked together in a campaign with Kumiko, brought together under different circumstances. Matthew had lost his girlfriend some time in that campaign, and a little known fact was that Jaffar, once from the enemy side, admitted that he had killed Leila, Matthew's girlfriend. The two had never gotten along ever since, and they had even tried to kill each other. Eventually, Matthew realized that it was foolish to get revenge on Jaffar, who was reformed. But even then, while Matthew had stopped pursuing the former-assassin, the two had kept avoiding each other. To imagine them settling their differences and deciding to work together was very, very difficult.

"…When I found out Kumiko was going to be queen, and that the King of Bern had also decided to take in Nino and Jaffar," Matthew answered truthfully. "I needed someone to keep an eye on Kumiko. I was worried about her, since _how_ Zephiel became king and how his father died was a mystery and all at that time. I contacted Jaffar and proposed that we work together, and he agreed on the condition that I use my power as Ostia's Master of Spies to find his children. He has been dutifully sending me correspondences and updates about the going-ons in Bern Keep, and I have the descriptions of his missing children engraved into the minds of all my spies. Exactly why they haven't been found yet eludes me."

"But he…" killed your girlfriend, Heath almost said. He stopped himself just in time.

Matthew realized what he was about to say, though. "It's been fifteen years or more. Somewhere between all that time, you find it in your heart to forgive."

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

BERN | Bern Keep

Jaffar had been ultimately right, Kumiko thought. The talking did wonders. She could not afford to trust Zephiel with the physical yet but telling him of her fears, her worries, her dreams—careful not to sound offensive and on edge about the war, or lack of it—it softened him. It did not matter that he must have already heard of her traumas and pain through other sources, like Anko or Nino, but for it to have come from her very own mouth—it was an intimacy. Secrets she was starting to confide to him. The smallest acts of trust that she could afford.

And with it, he became more amiable. He was less sarcastic with his remarks and more sincere. He smiled more, he laughed more, and with the lapse in military activity—_was there a war at all_?—he had the time to entertain her the entire day. He was a man who had all the time and resources to spoil his wife—he took her to trips around Bern, visiting their academies and libraries, held banquets in her honor, bought her new gowns and perfumes and jewelry. With all the attention, Kumiko beamed and looked like a woman revisited by her lover; always smiling, kind to all, gracious to everyone. The king and queen looked like lovers in courtship rather than a married pair of two years in struggle, fighting over a war.

He spoiled her, giving her everything she wanted and going beyond that—before she could even voice her desire for something, it was already done and given to her. Zephiel had a way of reading her mind, knowing what she wanted before she even said it. Not only of material things—mostly, Kumiko was the woman who would like to see every man and woman of Bern prosper. She was the queen the lords and noblemen hated but the queen the citizens loved. She would walk with them in their markets, dance with them in their festivals, cook with them in their kitchens. She would ride through the farmlands and ask how the crops were and be given samples of the products, later to come back to the royal carriage carrying a bunch of wool or a fresh bottle of milk and the best qualities of cheese and butter. She was a woman so loved by the citizens that it was said she could freely walk at the towns without fear of being taken advantage of or robbed or hostaged. And that she did—she walked Bern on her own at times, never with anything to fear. Though of course her husband made sure there were always men guarding her from a distance—but that aside, she walked a free woman.

And so sometimes, it was easy to predict what she would want. When she would complain about a town's awful water system—immediately Zephiel saw that there was something done about it. When she raved about a baker's fruit pies or tarts—immediately Zephiel saw that she had those very things for breakfast the next day and, for better measure, hired the baker to work in the castle kitchen. He always seemed to think like that—for every story of what she was or learned that she told him, wide eyed and excited, he would listen carefully and pick out something from her narrative that she would enjoy. And thus he spoiled her.

"Zephiel, I am going to get fat, I swear," she said, as she ate a slice of fruit pie one morning that they were having a private breakfast together. "Please stop spoiling me so much and bringing in all these wonderful food and treats. If I gain weight I feel I have to trek through the mountains just to lose it."

"Why does it matter?" he said, puzzled. "Go ahead and eat all you want. And it's been said that I have the finest eyes in the kingdom, and with that I say that I can see you hadn't gained a pound at all. So have whatever you want."

She laughed at his obvious flattery. "Easy for you to say, my lord," she said. "You can eat all you want and yet you lose it by jousting and exercising your swordsmanship everyday. But I have no such activity. Except for walking, of course. And if I get fat I swear you will find me ugly and look for another woman."

She was chatty and cheerful these days, a huge difference. "I will not do that," he said. "And besides, though you only have walking, I must say you are an expert at it. You must walk the entire castle everyday, Kumiko. Back and forth the floors, to and fro the courtyards and gardens and libraries. You were never really one to sit still."

"Of course," she said, after thoughtfully taking a bit of her pie and savoring it. When she spoke, a quiet happiness and pride was apparent in her voice. "I was the ever wandering Strategy Queen. I never sit still."

"And I am lucky to have made you stop wandering," he said, as he held onto her hand and pulled it to his lips for a light kiss. _And I am hoping that you would sit still and be content. I am doing everything I can to make you sit still and stay._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN-SACAE BORDER | A log cottage

Matthew was beginning to feel his determination to see this war through slip from his fingertips. It has been a while, _quite a while_, since Bern did something up-front about the war. Their attacks were on-hold. Their forces have pulled out from Lycia and there was no sign that they were going to try to attack onse more. Their troops have remained in Sacae and in Ilia, but _that was that_. There was no news of Bernese nobles being appointed as governors of these new colonies, or additional military forces being sent elsewhere. No news on the dragons either. Everything was at a standstill. Every letter that came from every spy was the same. Even the letters from Bern Keep had become monotonous, talking about some irrelevant hunting trip or royal vacation that the king and queen and their court were having. The war was never talked about, not even by the king. It was as if it never existed.

"Still nothing?" Heath inquired, as Matthew read through another letter of correspondence.

Matthew nodded. _Nothing_. Nothing significant was going on, and Matthew was even beginning to feel that a miracle would happen and the war would stop because Kumiko was blessed by the gods to have such charm that her husband would abandon the war because of her. It was a possibility that Matthew always considered, but never so seriously, not until now. _It seemed the entire war was stopping just because the king wants to spend time with his wife! Can anything be more trivial?_

And so the days slipped by. There was always nothing. Matthew began to feel that for every day that sped by, for every letter he anticipated was about an attack but then turns out to be about _nothing_, he started feel his age. He felt like years were taken away from him worrying about things that were not happening instead of savoring a life that wouldn't last forever.

Finally, he decided to let himself go and stop worrying about it.

It was a great experience, as if his body had just been released from a prison, his mind released from years worth of conditioning to think that there was always trouble. He began to breathe easy. He began to hum as he moved around. He slept well at night, and slept until the sun was high. The wounds on his shoulder were healing well, and he felt that overall, he was also getting better.

Heath started to mention the war less frequently. Miraculously, even Xarindid, too, as if she were eventually forgetting it as well. But if the inexistence of war eased Matthew, it seemed to do the opposite for Xarin. There was no visible sign of relief; she always acted guarded and on-edge. And to top it all off, she talked less. Without business to actually talk about—no war—she didn't talk at all. And so Matthew found himself either immersed in silence, or in one-sided conversation. That, or Matthew would just prefer to talk to Heath, but even they ran out of topics to broach. Or he would stare at Xarin, analyzing her, the way an artist tries to peel off layers of dust from an old work of art to see its real value. There was nothing much to think of or do anymore, and so he preoccupied himself with it. He tried to, slowly but surely, bring her out of her shell.

"Why'd you ever become a spy, Xarin?" he asked her, out of the blue, as he sat by the table and waited for his breakfast. Heath was away for his routine of early-morning time with Hyperion, and had left the two spies alone.

It was the beginning of one of Matthew's many attempts at conversation with Xarinwhich would usually be met by a cold response that would kill the conversation almost immediately. "I got into this because of the money, frankly," he said. "Thought it might help my family."

She was slicing bread and cheese and fruit for them to eat, hair plaited up, in a peasant dress with an apron. By all effects, she looked like a woman of the commons, not a high-ranking spy of Lycia. _Oh, heck, I probably look like that too,_ Matthew thought as he looked at his own clothes—off-white and tattered shirts and trousers.

Xarin looked back at him, puzzled, looking as if he had asked an absurd question, as if he said something wrong. She took the food and set them out before him, and she said, "I was _trained_ to be a spy. What else would I do?"

"There are other things to do," Matthew suggested, as he began eating. "You cook well, for example. You can run a house well."

"So you suggest I should have married and had children?" Xarin asked. She sounded slightly offended, but with Xarin, you can never really tell.

"What's wrong with getting married?" Matthew said, and in a flash a similar conversation with him and his past girlfriend, Leila, went to his mind. _I'm a spy, Matthew, I'm good at this_, she had told him. _I don't want my goal in life to be something as low as to get married. I want something more. Marriage can always wait._

He believed that marriage _could_ wait, but his concern was about Leila's safety in such a dangerous profession, and while he trusted her skill, he had planned to beg her to leave that life many times. Only he was too late. "I thought of marrying too, once. I find nothing wrong with it," he told Xarin.

She just shrugged. She began eating the melon and said nothing more. That was, for her, officially the end of the conversation.

He was not giving up, though. He fired another question. "Did you ever have a lover?"

She certainly didn't see that coming. She looked at him as if he were absurd. "_Excuse me?_"

He repeated the question as seriously as he could, while looking detached at the same time, trying to make it sound like he meant the question yet he couldn't care less if she answered it or not. "Did you ever have a lover," he said, almost sounding gruff and offended to say it. "You know. A special boy."

"And what do you care about that?" she asked back, responding with the same gruff tone. "That's none of your business."

"I _should _know," Matthew pressed some more, insistent. "I'm your superior. I take it that I know the backgrounds of all my spies. So, no loved one? No weakness?"

"...No," Xarin answered, irate. He could tell by the tone and the way she shifted the table knife in her hand, as if she were going to strike him with it any minute. "No one. You should know. People like those get in the way of work."

"Ever? Even before you were a spy? Absolutely no one?"

"...Why are you asking that? Are you _interested_ in me?"

He almost laughed at the absurdity of Xarin's question—but he stopped it just in time. To laugh was rude, and being Matthew, he just expertly took her words and flushed out the supposedly romantic implication of it. "Interested, yes," he said, levelly. "Since there is nothing much to be interested in these slow days. I believe I have no choice and am therefore forced to fixate on you. Now do me a favor and help me fight against my boredom by answering the question."

He was met by deadly silence. Xarin only stared at him, put on that scowling face that she usually wore when she was faced with something ridiculous, and turned back to her meal. Matthew gave a silent groan of defeat. He was supposed to be the best spy in Ostia—and with Ostia's standing in Lycia, he was supposed to be the best spy in _all of Lycia_. He could force people into telling something without using violence—usually all it took for him was a flick of wit and a turn of phrases. But Xarin was also a spy—and therefore an exception. She knew the tricks. She was not going to so easily succumb to his charms.

Surprisingly though, the answer camewhen they were nearly through with breakfast. "He was a member of Black Fang—back when the Fang was good, of course," she muttered. "And then he died the way assassins die—by being betrayed and stabbed in the back. I became a spy because of him. I worked hard because of him. I have taught myself to be like this, and now what else is there to do? I have no life outside this, Matthew. That's why I can't leave. Now, I'm going to the stream to get some laundry done."

_That's stupid. We all have lives outside this. I learned that the hard way. Long ago, I waited too long before I started living my life. My REAL life. I waited too long, and because of that, she died. You're not making the same mistake I have, Xarin. We've both been here too long._

She got up and he knew the conversation was over. "Wait up, don't leave me," he told her. She looked back, and cocked her head to the side in question. "I'm dying to take a bath," Matthew explained. "Take me with you."

"No," she said, firmly. "Stay here and watch over the place. _Leave me alone._"

And then she stormed off, and Matthew was left, shocked, not sure what was that he saw. Did Xarin actually just—did she just _talk back_ at him? Was she angry for some reason? _Did I do or say something horribly offensive to her?_

Matthew was only able to contain his curiosity for a few minutes. And then, not knowing what to do, he gave a little groan and took his cloak, scribbled a note for Heath in case he returned, and decided to follow after her.

_Take me with you. Don't leave me alone. If you only knew, Xarin. I secretly hate being alone._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Matthew walked the small distance from their hideout into the streams of water in the mountains that eventually spilled out into Bern's Rhine river. He walked through the trees and bushes, the stream already in his sights, but he checked and found that Xarin wasn't there. Oh great. Where did she run off to?

But then he heard the waters move, and then he found a heap of clothes sprawled out on the rocks, and from that he didn't have to look far to see Xarin in the waters, bathing. Instinctively, Matthew backed away and hid into the foliage. If Xarin knew that he had seen her bathing, she might not take it well and he was going to end up with sharp, nasty things stuck into his flesh if that was the case.

But then she started speaking. Matthew couldn't help but glance back at her when he heard her muttering. "I swear," she said, "I swear." And then she settled herself onto the rocks by the stream and began to wring out the water from her auburn hair. "_I swear_," she said. And then her lips moved to a whisper so silent that Matthew didn't hear the words, and they were also too quick for him to be able to read it. _What is it? What is she saying?_

She was groaning and muttering things as she continued twisting her hair to expel the water from them. Obviously—for some reason—she was angry. _That I asked too much? But Xarin is a professional. She wouldn't get angry at me for something so trivial as that._ But did he hit a sore point? Did she not want to discuss past lovers or something of the sort? _Did she have wounds of that kind, too?_Because Matthew certainly knew about the pains of love, of losing a loved one. He could help her through it and give her a few words of wisdom—

And then she grabbed onto that soap—a steal from some unlucky inn on their way to here—and then started rubbing across her body. That was when Matthew couldn't help but take a good look at her. She soaped her neck, and her shoulders and her breasts and—

_Damn_, Matthew said to himself. Xarin was a handsome woman in her own way and he had never tried to deny that. Her skin glowed with the warm color of the skin of a common woman who spent a healthy amount of time under the sun. The Bernese weather must be doing wonders to her skin. And there was something in the way she rubbed that soap across her skin that seemed so... inviting. Something that seemed so much more than a woman taking a bath—because if that was that, why did she have to do it so slowly, as if she were trying to get every inch clean, as fanatical about cleanliness as a courtesan in a bathhouse?

Matthew found himself wordlessly staring for a few more seconds. _Agh. When was the last time I saw a naked woman? ago. I was too preoccupied with work and... and... Gaah. Those breasts. That waist. Goodness gracious. Damnation, Xarin. I never knew you had this in you._

But then Matthew suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over him when he remembered that this was Xarin—the woman who had taken care of him when he was too injured to take care of himself, and stood by his side, even just out of her duty to him because of work. _She still put up with me in my worst._ He forced his eyes shut and turned away from her direction. And then he moved around in the foliage and made noises, so he could alert her about his presence. "Xarin? Are you there, Xarin? It's me!"

He heard her moving, maybe back into the water, as he took a few blind steps towards the clearing by the stream with his eyes closed. As he emerged clearer into the clearing, he opened his eyes and saw that, indeed, she had stepped back into the water.

"I told you to leave me alone," she said.

He looked down at her, and shook his head to himself. Though her shoulders and everything below that was submerged in the stream, the water was too clear to hide everything. "You didn't do the laundry," he observed. "You're taking a bath."

"A statement of the obvious," she said, crossing her arms to herself. When she did, her arms pressed her breasts together, and—

_Matthew, enough looking at those!_

He pulled his eyes to another direction—_any direction, anywhere except her!—_and told her, sounding every bit awkward, "Uh, you should get dressed."

She didn't move. Obviously she wasn't a bit uncomfortable in the awkward situation that they were in. "I told you to leave me alone," she said.

"_I told you to get dressed_," he said, making the words sound like an order of a superior to a subordinate. If it was clearly and order from him, she could not refuse to follow never disobeyed his orders.

_...Well, she did, sometimes, but not often. And when she does, oftentimes she ends up being right._

He heard the waters move and was relieved to find that she did listen, moving away to grab a drying sheet. She wrapped it around herself and then tucked it secure. And she just stared at him, waiting for whatever he was going to say.

He stared back at her and found that there was something in the way she crossed her legs, one over the other, as she sat there on the wet rocks. There was something seductive in the way that she stared at him that almost seemed to be inviting him towards her and take the damn sheet of cloth off her and do unspeakable things—

Matthew couldn't help but visibly shake his head to himself. _I'm imagining things and I've been cooped up in the mountains for months without seeing another female being. Or this is the Xarin I've never really seen before. If this is what she's like, no wonder that scoundrel Erik immediately slipped into her trap..._

_Wait, that sounded so wrong._

Matthew shook his head again and tried to remember why he was there to begin with.

"You were angry at me," he eventually said.

"I wasn't," Xarin said, looking away from him, crossing her arms again.

"You screamed at me and then stormed off!" Matthew told her. "I was worried!"

"You're the one screaming at me now!" Xarin yelled back, as she got up with an angry stomp. "You could have just let me go off and have a little time to myself first! Let me be alone and let me deal with it myself and then I'll forget about it and I'll be okay!"

Matthew couldn't help but blink and be taken aback by all of this. _It was true._Xarin_was_ screaming mad at him. He had never seen her like this before, but he always seemed to predict that this would happen—the lack of war seemed to turn Xarin into a teapot so very near its boiling point. And this was it. This is that boiling point.

"We could talk about it," Matthew suggested, but Xarin already had her back turned towards him. "We could talk," he said, more firmly now. "And so whatever's bothering you can be thrown out of the window right here, right now, instead of you having to deal with it in prolonged silence and me having to be troubled thinking if you're angry or not. Doesn't that sound better?"

She said nothing. He stared at her back and frowned at her obvious failure to cooperate. But at the same time, she did not leave yet. Matthew found it right to tackle the issue head-on.

"...So," Matthew began, awkwardly, "he was Black Fang."

"And he's dead," Xarin quickly added, tone clearly trying to end the conversation. "And when he died, I died along with him."

"Look," Matthew said, "I know a thing or two about losing someone you love, and I know it never gets easy. I'm sorry I made you talk about it, but it's been at least _twenty_ years since it happened, right? You should let it go."

"It's not the same!" she yelled at him, and Matthew fell silent. "It will _never _be the same. And you know what my real problem is? It's not him. It's _you_!"

0o0o0o0o0o0

It's _me_.

_I'm her problem._

What did I _do_? All I did was ask one silly question and she blows up and starts hatin'.

...Unless there's something I did that I wasn't aware I did.

But she's not telling me what it is.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Frustration getting the better of him, Matthew finally decided to write to one of his spies in Ostia to send him Xarin's records. Every spy of Ostia had his or her personal record—details about their past lives, any family they might have or any past lovers—and it was usually kept by the Master of Spies. Matthew could tell all the life stories of all his spies, but frankly, he'd never taken a look at Xarin's. When Xarin was recruited, every spy reported to Lord Uther—the duke of Ostia before his brother, Lord Hector—instead. When Xarin's records were done, he had no control over them, or every other spy's record—they were only for Lord Uther. And when Lord Uther passed, they were passed onto Lord Hector. And when he became Master of Spies, all the records were put under his care, but for some reason, he never found it in himself to read Xarin's very own life tale.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. And after a week, the records were sent to him, and he read then when Xarin was away to the nearest village to market in the mornings. She was not going to take it well if she found out he was prying, so as much as possible he was not going to alert her.

Well, she had a family. Her parents and an older brother. They had a field and they farmed for a living—and interestingly, apart from that, they also ran their village tavern. But she was unlucky to live in Bern's Landskworn region—which is now absorbed into Liestal, but back in the day, the region was governed by one of the most ruthless dukes in all of Bern's history—Pascal Grentzer.

Grentzer was formidable in battle, and even a member of the Black Fang back in those days—but he was brutal, and his bloodlust and powerlust beyond what the Fang could control. He was severe to the people in his land—he immediately burned down the properties of those who refused to pay the taxes even if there are people still inside them. Matthew felt a chill run down his spine as he read Xarin's statements, as written down by the recorder:

_I went to the market to buy something. When I got back, Pascal and his men were there, and all I saw was that our house was in flames. I heard my brother screaming. They were still inside. I tried to rush into the flames and help them, but Pascal's men held me down. No one did anything. Everyone just watched._

And Matthew felt himself hurt, because he knew that, as with most of his spies, he was thrice lucky compared to them. His parents were alive. Sure, he never got to see them because his job demanded detachment from them, but he knew they were well and alive and they still sent him letters. But not every spy is as lucky as him.

_And after I watched him burn down my entire family, I went toward him and hit him on his face so hard he fell off his horse. He grabbed me by the neck and I told him to kill me, too. But he didn't. He took me to his castle and then turned me into a slave._

_He fancied me—in a horrible, sadistic way. He said he was going to make me pay for hitting him. He had me locked up and tortured and made me do things—but he never killed me. He didn't want me to die; he wanted me to suffer. He was the sickest man I ever met._

_And then one day, the Black Fang came and put an end to Pascal's reign. I was set free by a Black Fang member who saw me. He gave me some money and told me that I should go back to my family. He left before I could tell him that I had no more family._

_I wanted to get as far away from Landskworn; I made it to the capital. But I ran out of money soon and with the way things were, the only job I got was in a bathhouse._

Matthew blinked to himself in disbelief. First, Xarin worked in a tavern—she was a barmaid. And then second, she worked in a bathhouse—and he was not too innocent to not know what kind of services women in bathhouses offered. But when you looked at Xarin now, she looked so hard and strong and... and like she'd never fit into those jobs.

But pain changes people, he thought. Sometimes, they change too much you don't recognize them anymore from who they were to who they are now.

Matthew continued reading.

_And then I one day, the man who set me free from my prison in Landskworn saw me again. He went to the bathhouse; he recognized me and asked me what I was doing there. I told him I didn't have a family to go to and that was the only job I could find. He was dismayed; he took me from the bathhouse and brought me to the inn he was staying in. He told me he'd take care of me until and help me find a decent job. I told him that I wanted to be like him instead. I wanted to be Black Fang._

_He told me not to. That we'd find something more suited for me. But for the meanwhile he took care of me, and then, I started to fall in-love with him. I told him about it and he told me he loved me too and that we should stay together. _

_But then he died. And then I went back to the bathhouse and met a man named Alecto. He was a general of Bern and he was asking around for information I happened to know about. He was impressed. I told him I slept with enough soldiers of Bern to know what he was asking about. And he laughed and told me I shouldn't be stuck in a bathhouse waiting on soldiers. He put me under his care and taught me about spywork in Bern._

That was where the narrative ended. Matthew looked puzzled at the document, and at the little oddity he found in it.

He just _died? _No telling how he died—was he attacked? Someone who had a grudge on him? Was he killed in a Fang assignment? He just _died_?

If he just died, Xarin couldn't possibly hold on to him for this long. He knew how it felt to lose a loved one—surely, didn't his girlfriend Leila die in a mission?—but when you've found peace and accepted it, time teaches you to let go. He thinks back on Leila fondly at all times, and she would always put a smile to his lips and make him wish that she were there with him. But he had accepted that she was gone. Usually, even people wouldn't hold on too long to the memory of a loved one, and feel some sort of _grudge_ when talking about him...

Matthew lit up, and realized what the problem was. There might be a _grudge_ in there—because certainly, sometimes anger lasted longer than love. Maybe she has not accepted his death because there was something about him that upset her: an unfulfilled promise, an unjust death that she had to avenge—anything!

_...But how am I going to know what it is when all the records say is that he 'just died'?_

_I have to find out. Damn, I have to, or I'm not going to get any sleep._

0o0o0o0o0

"I found this," Xarin said, as she entered their hideout from an evening in the nearest village, and Matthew heard her speaking from above him, as he was lying down on the bed, trying to catch on a nap.

He felt Xarin toss something towards him, and lazily Matthew opened his eyes and found that it was a rolled piece of parchment—her records. Matthew snapped wide awake for a second, but then decided to play innocent and ask, "What's that?"

"You should know," Xarinsaid, tone confrontational. And then she sat down on the bed beside him with a heavy thump. "So, you know everything now. _Are you happy now?_ Got what you wanted?"

Her tone made it clear that she was upset—again. Matthew sighed and sat up in bed, deciding that he wanted none of this when he was about to sleep. "Xarin, will you please—"

His sentence was cut midway when he found that Xarin, sitting on the bed, back turned towards him, had taken her blouse off. The bare of her back was very much exposed to him as she bent down towards a bedside table and took a nightshift. Matthew made a face. "You know dear, trying to seduce me like I'm Erik isn't gonna work."

And then Matthew realized for the first time that while Xarin can be shy in certain situations—like that girl thinking that there was something going on between him and Xarin not too long ago—she also can be immune to all the attention. When men tried to sweet talk her and flatter her, she flicked off their comments like she never heard them, yet at the same time, when men stared at her, she wouldn't be much bothered. Certainly she didn't care that day when she was taking a bath while talking to her. And certainly she didn't care much about the Erik Laus assignment, or that she was currently flashing her nakedness to him. Not that Matthew was interested.

_...Just a little. I'm too puzzled to be interested._

"I know you're going to be different from Erik," Xarin said, as she pulled her nightshift over her head, and Matthew swore that there was something different in her tone. "I figure you're going to be so much harder."

"Of course I'm going to be so much harder than—" Matthew then stopped himself from saying the words, suddenly thinking, _Wait a second. That sounds so wrong. That sounds vaguely suggestive and sexual._

Xarin laughed, figuring why Matthew stopped midway his sentence. Now it was clear to him that she was just messing with him. She was spiting him and teasing him for reading his records, and this was her odd way of doing it.

"Xarin, _this_ is hitting below the be—"_No, wait, that sounds like an awful pun, ah, damn it, and I don't even find this situation funny. _Matthew just took the piece of parchment in his hand and shoved it to her face, to make a point. "Yes! I read this! I had to! Do you have any idea how frustrating it feels, to live with this, this… this friction between us?"

"…_Friction_," Xarin said, enunciating the word well and slow that it came off as suggestive. In the dim of the evening, it was easy to imagine it as suggestive. Despite the awareness that she was doing it to spite him, Matthew shuddered.

"Xarin, _it's not even funny_," Matthew said, feeling himself back away from the bed, just to be careful. "I'm in honest-to-goodness frustration here! I'm trying to figure you out and help you but—"

"Then _what _are you trying to figure out, Matthew?" she asked him. "I'm not broken—I don't need your fixing. You're my superior in everything related to work, but this is stepping out of the line!"

_The yelling had begun. Oh no._ The yelling had begun, and somewhere in the living room, Heath was going to wake up. But there was no helping it. "No! You just said it—I am your superior—and if there's anything going on that's affecting your work, I have a say in it! You've been acting odd, as if you hate me, ever since I just asked about that lover of yours, and it's making me feel awkward. So I have a say in this, _alright_?"

"_What_ do you want to hear?" she yelled, frustrated. "What do you want to know?"

"_Why_ can't you let him go?" Matthew yelled back, knowing it can't be helped—he had to confront her about it, else this was never going to be solved. "He died well around twenty years ago and you _still_ act odd talking about it. Why do you keep everything in instead of letting it go? I want to help you, but I don't know how! And don't you know how difficult it is for me, working with you when you're like some teapot that's always gonna boil over the next second? I always feel you're angry or upset about something and I don't know what in the hell it is!"

He had yelled so loud that he had drowned everything with his voice. She stilled, a little startled from his yell, but then she just stared back at him and asked, "…Do you really want to know?"

Exhausted from yelling, all Matthew gave her was a nod.

"It's because he's not dead."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Matthew felt his head spin as Xarin began telling her story, telling him about the man from Fang named Alexander and how she met him. It was exactly what was written in the records—he had set her free from Landskworn and remet her in the capital and helped her and then fell in-love with her. Only, Xarin tended to add a few more details. The color of his hair, his voice, his laughter—too much detail that Matthew could already paint a picture in his mind of what this man looked like and who he was, enough detail for a spy or assassin to find a man and figure his weakness. But the absurd amount of detail made Matthew's head spin. He did _not _want to know everything there was to this man—he only wanted to know what it was about him that made her hold onto him, what made him 'special'. Because Xarin certainly sounded like she was talking about someone special—he could see in her eyes, in the little bitter smiles she'd give, or the occasional chuckle as she described to him this man.

"…He saved me from hell," she said—mumbled—to the floor. "He rescued me and helped me start again and believe life was worth it again."

_Aaand please skip to the part where he supposedly dies_, Matthew thought, but then he thought better against saying it. Wasn't he getting what he wanted now—Xarin opening up? He was not going to ruin it by one snarky, misplaced comment. He sat there, patiently waiting for the rest of her story.

"And then he told me, one day, that he had a Fang assignment, so I might not see him in a while. I told him I'd wait for him. But then he never came back. I waited and waited. Even when I was free from the bathhouse, even when Sir Alecto already took me in, I kept dropping by our usual place and asking if anyone ever saw him. But, no. He never came back."

Matthew thought that was the end of it, so he said, "Maybe he _did_ die in that Fang assignment, or something happened, so he never got back to you. Whatever it was, it wasn't fated—"

"But then I found him," Xarin continued, cutting Matthew's presumptions. "A few months after he left for the assignment, I found him in some house, living with some other woman. I asked around—I even asked other Black Fang-and found out he never went on an assignment. He left Fang—he _ran _from Fang. Started a new life with some other girl. And he never told me. He made me believe it was something else. He made me believe we had something else. I told myself, when I found out about it, that he was already dead. I considered him dead. But he's probably still alive, living a blissful, happy life with his woman."

He could hear the anger, the jealousy, and the spite dripping in her voice. Twenty years, and Xarin was still angry. Twenty years, and the grudge was still there. It was different from the grudge he held against Leila's killer. She held a grudge against the man who she loved the most.

"And I told myself that I was dead, too. If he disregarded me—if he didn't want me to exist—then I didn't exist. I went back to my old life. Went back to the just to forget everything. Because everything he inspired in me, all the hope he gave me before that I might fix my life fell apart. I wanted to ruin my life. If Sir Alecto hadn't picked me up and helped me, I would've… I would've…"

_I would've still been a whore. I would have gotten nowhere. I would have died_. Matthew's thoughts filled in the silence between him and Xarin, and told him what could have happened.

Xarin looked nowhere near tears, but all her pain was clear in her voice, and in the way she hunched around herself as if to hide away from him, to hide all this filth. Matthew awkwardly put a hand to her shoulder, trying to comfort. It all felt unnatural and unreal to him, because Xarin never asked for comfort so he wasn't even sure if she wanted it, or if it would make her feel better or worse.

"It's not your fault he turned out to be a jerk," he said, sounding careful. "…Let it go."

"He _isn't_," Xarin told him, firmly. And with that certainty in her voice, Matthew knew that, just as he thought, comfort wasn't what she needed. She was rejecting his kind words, his comforting arms, his… his understanding of the truth. Matthew felt a sting of hurt. "He was amazing," Xarin said. "He showed me everything I wanted to be and gave me so much strength and…"

_Yes, I know that part. He was amazing. I know. You said it a hundred times. _"But then he left with nothing to leave with you but a lie," Matthew said, surprised to hear spite in his own voice. "He was a jerk, Xarin. Let it go. If he really loved you, he would have come back. He would have never lied that he was going to an assignment in the first place."

"I know that, Matthew," she quickly said, and the quickness of her response made Matthew think that it was the contrary—she _didn't _know or _want _to know, even. She was only denying everything he was telling her. She was closed, still elusive—like a frustrating locked box that you take hours to pick, only to find yet another locked box in it. You never know if at the end of it, you'll get a rare gem or treasure for your efforts, or if it was all a joke, and there was nothing there at all.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Are you and Xarin... sleeping together?" Heath suddenly asked the next morning. Matthew had been drinking his warm ale and he had nearly spit it out at Heath's question.

"_Excuse me_? You mean sleeping together meaning we share the same bed or sleeping together meaning _sleeping together_?"

Heath shrugged. "I know it's not my business, but it's... _disturbing_," Heath continued, definitely looking embarrassed to be asking Matthew about it, though he tried to look detached. "I almost walked into the room last night and then I saw her take her shirt off so I just went back. I'm not going to say anything or judge but if that's the case you should have warned me so I don't run into the two of you when-"

It sounded so ridiculous to Matthew that he ended up laughing. "Heath!_Please! _Xarin and I aren't... we're not together. And we definitely don't have that kind of relationship. Last night, that was actually her form of expressing her silly little grudge for me by tempting me—I know it sounds so twisted. But at the same time she knows that I wouldn't do it because I respect her. But point is,she did it out of _hatred_ for me."

At the same time, Matthew's explanation sounded equally ridiculous to Heath. "She's angry at you... so she takes her clothes off?"

The absurdity of her actions then dawned on Matthew as well. _Really, Xarin, these are dirty tactics_. "She's angry at me. So she tempts me in hopes that I will do something wrong. Which has not crossed my mind so far, or ever will, not in these circumstances."

"Are you sure? You were never really one who seemed to pass on a treat."

Matthew checked, and turned to Heath, who, it seemed, was teasing him even more, as if giving him that little nudge that will make him fall over the cliff. That was something the wyvern rider wouldn't seem to do—that was something like a former Black Fang assassin that he knew from years past would probably do. But then Matthew found that Heath wasn't pushing him at all—the wyvern knight was engrossed in fixing his clothes, an air of detachment around him, as if he couldn't care less. The statement Heath made was just that—a statement.

And it was _true_. When did he _ever _pass out on a treat, most especially if it were advantageous to him? Being a spy was synonymous to being an opportunistic sneak—you learn to use everything you are offered and not waste it. When there was something that would grant him a benefit—like a mission that would give him more pay, or a mission that would make it possible for him to see his parents, and his promotion at his field—Matthew was first in line for it. And if he wasn't, he would be contemplating it, trying to see what he could make of the opportunity. Being an opportunistic, selfish sneak is, sadly, one thing you have to be if you want to be a good Master of Spies.

But... this?To turn Xarin's anger and weakness to his favor—to misuse it?_It sounds so... sick._But if he had agreed to her temptations and suggestions—if he had talked back like the charming Master of Spies that he was that could trick anyone to giving him _anything_—_something_ might have happened. Only, he resisted it.

Matthew turned back to his documents and tried to look and sound detached as well. "I respect Xarin," he said, firmly. "She stuck with me in my lowest, and so now I do the same to her when she is at her worst. I wouldn't even dream of imposing myself with her. I wouldn't touch a woman unless she wanted it. It's not... it's not an honorable thing, right?"

Heath stopped what he was working on to give Matthew a puzzled look. _Honor_ wasn't exactly a word Heath imagined fit for a spy, a liar and thief by profession, and most of all the Master Spy, the biggest liar of them all. Anko herself would take pride in the fact that she never knew the meaning of the word. "...And so you have never forced yourself on a woman?" Heath asked, curiously.

"_Never_," Matthew said, confidently.

"And you have never charmed and bedded a woman for the sake of your work? To get information out of her?"

Matthew's confidence shook a little. "…They wanted it. That doesn't count. It wasn't by force."

"…What if Xarin wants it?"

That suggestion caught Matthew off-guard. He was silent, mouth agape at the suggestion that was preposterous and nothing else for him.

_Xarin... wants it? That was just ridiculous, she wouldn't, she'd not—_

Matthew shook his head to himself. "That is impossible. That was out of spite—some _game_. People do silly things they'll regret later out of spite. And I don't want to be part of that regret—I don't want any part in it at all."

Heath, however, clearly saw how Matthew just evaded his original question, and so the wyvern knight repeated it. "For a second, just imagine that she wants it. Would you?"

_Imagine!_Matthew began laughing to himself, not being able to think of the images that Heath was suggesting. _Xarin! Me! Damn it, I can't even believe that she was a bathhouse whore in her past life. All the more the reason why I can't imagine her actually wanting to fuck with me. She's not the kind to—_

But then he remembered her bathing in the streams, the slow, inviting way she soaped herself, that damned way she crossed one leg over the other, and that engaging, almost passionate stare of hers. She still has it in her. If she didn't, then Erik Laus wouldn't have been hooked on her. Erik was a scoundrel; he liked easy women, he wouldn't even consider pursuing a deadly beauty like Xarin—so whoever Erik desired was not the Xarin that Matthew knew at all. It was different. Another her.

And what if that other her-the whore who learned to use her body and men's desire to her advantage—wants him?

_Fuck. I'd drop everything and just damn take her clothes off and abandon reason._

Matthew turned, and realized that Heath was staring at him, and with that he knew that he was silent for too long. What would it mean if he admitted that he was, honestly, going to abandon reason if Xarin ever showed signs that she wanted him? _It's a treat. A blessing, even. No one says no to blessings and opportunities; they might never come again. That was how spies think._ Always treat everything as if there was just one chance, as if it were never happening again. So if it ever happened...

"If it were _you_, would you?" Matthew suddenly turned the question back at Heath. "If a woman ever came onto you like that, would you take the chance? Even if you know it's not done out of love and that it might be wrong?"

Heath immediately looked away and turned back to his preoccupation with his belongings. "I wouldn't do that," Heath said, a little flustered, remembering Anko, and thus knowing that he was lying through his teeth. "I'd try to do what's right."

"Then I guess I would, too," Matthew said. _But you and I both know we're lying._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

FOUR DAYS LATER

He was either going to be thankful for this decision, or utterly regret it later. He couldn't tell which was more likely to happen. All he knew was that somehow, this might help her.

"How long will this be?" Heath asked. The two of them were alone again, Xarin out to the village.

"A few days, maybe," Matthew said. "Won't be a week. Place isn't pretty far, lucky for me."

"And you'll go by yourself? Why not have one of your spies do it?"

Matthew pondered on the question himself. "…Firstly, my spies in Bern aren't that many to freely order around as I'd wish. They're tied to their places. I happen to be the nearest out of all of them, so I thought why not."

Heath only stared at him blankly, as if waiting for the real answer.

Matthew smirked and came out with his real reason. "This is an important thing. I can't just let any spy go there and possibly botch it, right? It has to be the best."

"But why are you even going to…? Someone might…" Heath shook his head to himself as he nearly stumbled over his next words. "Someone might recognize you. You'll be in Bern territory once you go down the mountains. Anko has spies everywhere in Bern. If any of them recognize you, you'll be taken in."

Matthew shrugged. He knew the hazards, he was aware of them, and he knew that he wasn't exactly in friendly terms with the Bernese Master Spy—war was still looming in the air, and the head of a Lycian Master Spy would fetch any Bernese a good reward.

"…I care for her," was all that Matthew said. "It's the only way I can repay her for everything good she's done for me. If I don't do this for her, Heath, it'll haunt me, too. And I don't like my sleep being bothered by something I didn't do."

O0o0o0o0o0o0o

He almost headed out, but when he was about to, until Heath chased him with a question.

"…Are you in-love with her?"

Matthew just left, letting the question hang in the air.

0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | Somewhere in Liestal

It took Matthew a day and a half to actually find out where the man lived. He actually did well for himself, as his informant told him. The guy had a farm, had animals-horses and sheep, had a nice, warm stone home, and a few servants of his own, to boot. It was a relatively sunny day and the servants were out and about, tending to the plots and the animals.

Matthew then managed to pick out the man he was tall, almost lanky, but his arms were muscular. His built was typical of an assassin—like Matthew himself. He was tending to one of the horses, stroking its black mane while looking over his servants. There was no tension on his face-none of the usual tension that most assassin had even after they had left the field for years. He looked... _content_. Happy, even.

And then sounds of voices and laughter came, and from within the stone house a woman came, beautiful enough-certainly on par with Xarin-holding a laughing toddler in his arms, followed by another boy in his teens, looking a lot like the man. The man turned to them, talked with them, and ended in a fit of laughter with them. And despite not knowing them, despite their joy, Matthew couldn't help but bite down on his lip and feel awful about seeing this.

If Xarin was here to see this, she would be crushed.

0o0o0o0o0

Matthew decided to approach him as soon as his wife left. He stood by the fences of the man's land, and very quickly as that the man noticed him, and walked up to him.

"Anything I can help you with?" his voice was deep and smooth, there was almost a musical tone to it.

_A lot, actually. There's a lot you can help me with here._ "I'm looking for the land of sirAlexander? Someone told me it was here."

"It is here," the man said. "Is there anything you need from this place?"

Matthew listened closely to his voice-there was something in his tone and intonation that seemed _familiar_. He began to rack his mind for a person he knew who sounded the same, who talked the same, but when his mind failed him after three seconds, he gave up. "I'm looking for the man who owns the place. Would that be you, sirAlexander?"

"…Yes," the man said, with only a bit of hesitation as he eyed Matthew from head to toe. "…That would be me. And please, call me 'Alex'. 'Alexander' is simply too long. Anything you need?" he asked again.

And so, Matthew walked up to him, and simply told him:

"I'm here because of Black Fang."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Urgently, Alex led Matthew into the stables, and for the first time Matthew saw this man rattled. _Black Fang_ was the magic word. This man had long forgotten how it is to be an assassin, all traces of that past erased in his face, and Matthew had brought it back and reminded him of it. Matthew was ruining his peace, threatening his life, just by saying two words: _Black Fang._

"I left Fang well over twenty years ago," Alex said, quickly jumping into explanation, already defending himself. "What is it that you want? Anything anyone possibly wants to know about the organization is already out in the open. I was gone from the organization before they even began to act like mercenaries out of control. And anyone I've done ill against because of Fang, I've paid back-"

"Relax," Matthew said. "That was a ruse. I'm here because of something else."

The expression on Alex's face slowly changed into puzzle. _Something else?_ What could be worse than a confrontation about your assassin past? And who was this man who knew him and his connections to the Fang? Alex crossed his arms to himself and stood there patiently, as if waiting for Matthew to come out with the truth.

Matthew took a deep breath before saying, "Ever remember a girl with brown hair, hazel eyes, someone you rescued from Landskworn well over twenty years ago...?"

Alex's sandy brown, almost golden eyes, flickered in realization. "...Xarin?" he asked. "Are you here because of Xarin?"

Matthew simply nodded.

The man let go of a breath he was holding on to, and then smiled—a forced little smile, Matthew saw. "...Xarin," he said, his voice having a little shiver when he said the name, as if he had forbidden himself from saying it years and years ago. "What about her? And how are you related to her?"

"I'm her..." Matthew's words trailed off and he hesitated. This was something he had not decided on before. _Friend_ sounded too obscure. And to go along with his cover in Bern that he was Xarin's husband sounded like a risky thing to say when he was faced with the man that was her lover.

"I'm someone who cares for her," Matthew decided to say, "...a lot."

The man stared at him long and hard and his eyes swept over Matthew, and Matthew knew that look: the look of a spy sizing up another man, trying to decide who he was in less than a second. And then Alex came out with his deduction. "You're her lover."

_If you say so_, Matthew told himself.

It seemed, with that question out of the way, the awkwardness was over for Alex. He turned to the horses in the stables and picked up stacks of hay to feed them. He looked a little detached now, a little more prepared, as if he had waited for this day and knew it was coming. "How is she?" he asked, all too normally—_too_ normally. "Been a while since I saw her. Is she living well? Have any kids yet?"

How casually Alex was taking this offended Matthew. "...How about _you_ tell me what you think happened to her and answer your own question?" Matthew said, the threat in his voice very clear.

Alex, however, was unfazed by it. He looked every bit like he had prepared for this day, like in his wildest dreams he considered that it would happen. "Well, judging by the looks of _you_, it seems she found someone to take care of her," Alex said, mirroring Matthew's slight annoyance in his tone. "I think she did well. I always imagined she'd marry a good man and have children and work in a pub she owned with her husband. Isn't that what happened to her?"

_No. She clung on to your memory. She chose to live as a spy and assassin just like you were, back in the days. And forget about her getting married and having children. She shuts everyone out and it's your fault._ "Not even remotely close," Matthew muttered between gritted teeth.

The air around them was becoming thick of impending confrontation. Alex took a breath of it and said, "Tell me, then. Tell me what happened to her."

"You tell me what you did to her first," Matthew said, his annoyance clear in his tone. "Twenty damn years and Xarin _still_ remembers you. Twenty damn years and she _still _holds on to you. What did you do to her? _Whatever made you that special_?" For every statement, Matthew took a step towards Alex, eventually cornering the other man to the wall. "_What_ did you do? Of all people, _why you_?"

For a second, Alex looked frightened like any man being confronted by an offended stranger. But the effect of having have worked in Black Fang for a good number of years remained with him—he managed to stay as calm as an assassin after a kill. "I wouldn't know what she saw in me. I wouldn't know _why_ she'd want me or _still_ want me. She's the only one who could answer that."

Matthew bit his lip as he began to pull himself from the conversation and analyze it. He was sure that somewhere along the lines, he was beginning to sound stupid. He had to make a point and he had to hammer it down, but exactly what it was and how he was going to say it eluded him when all his own anger for this man was getting in the way. He wanted to argue with him about everything he had done to Xarin, and make him pay for all of it and regret all of it.

But then he remembered, that was not his point. It was never about revenge to begin with. Xarin never wanted revenge. She needed closure, not revenge.

Matthew took a step back and thought carefully on what he was going to say next.

"...Why did you leave her, all those years ago? Why did you say that you were going on an assignment but not say that you were never coming back? Why did you disappear? ...Tell me the truth."

There was a long silence, and to Matthew, Alex almost looked as if a man thinking up of a clever story on the spot to save himself. But then he admitted, "...I was already married to another woman when I met Xarin. I just... I didn't know how to tell her. I didn't expect to fall in-love with her. I just wanted to help her. But I grew those feelings and later realized that I couldn't stand by it anyway so the best thing I could do for her was disappear. I believed she'd be better off without me. I still do. I don't regret my decision. I'd have ruined her life if I stayed. Leaving was the best thing I could do for her."

_I didn't expect to fall in-love._ Matthew picked out those words from Alex's statement and felt sick to know that he was blaming love for all the mistakes he did. That was sick. Even made sicker by the fact that this man was Fang—someone who lived in the shadows like a spy, like Matthew. Their kind simply did not blame emotions for their errors. Every error was your own, you didn't blame it on something like love.

"You shouldn't have loved her in the beginning," Matthew said. "If you were going to leave her and hurt her like that, you shouldn't have loved her to begin with—you shouldn't even be given the right to love. What did she do to deserve betrayal? Did Xarin ever do anything wrong?"

"It's not her—it's me," Alex said, as if that explained everything. Matthew rolled his eyes. He was a spy, he was a man, he knew that "it's not her, it's me" were the choice words of every man when they were leaving their sweethearts. He had used those very words himself to many, many women in his past, half the time meaning them, half the time only using it as an excuse.

Alex seemed to have read the disbelief in Matthew's face. "I _had _to leave her!" he said, stressing on the words to make a point. "I had no choice. And you make it sound like it's my fault I fell in-love with her back then. Who chooses love? Who knows when it'll come? Certainly not me. When I realized that Xarin and I weren't going to work out, it was too late. I was already in too deep. I didn't know how to break it to her. So I did what I thought would work out for the best, for both of us."

Matthew felt the muscles of his arms tighten as he clenched his fists. _For the best. For the both of us. This man should listen to what he's saying!_ "So you lied to her," Matthew said, his voice cold. "So you lied to her so you wouldn't have to explain. So it wouldn't be harder for you. It was the best for you, but not for her. You never thought about her, about what she'd feel once she found out it was a lie."

Alex simply stared at Matthew, as if extremely puzzled. "You don't know me so you can't tell," he told Matthew. "And why dig this up? It's been twenty years. Why are you making your own ghost? You're with her now, aren't you? She loves you now. Everything probably turned out fine—why are you doing this ridiculous—"

"Because everything didn't turn out _fine_," Matthew said, through gritted teeth. "And there's something Xarin needs that only you can give."

"And what is that?"

"_Closure_," Matthew said. "So do me a favor and give her an explanation. Do me a favor and tell her the truth."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"_I want you to do something for me," Matthew said, his words sounding more like an order rather than a request._

_The man beside him, holding a pen nib and parchment in his hand, turned to him, and gave a puzzled look._

"_Don't lie to her," Matthew said. "Xarin's had enough of lies, and all she wants is the truth. Don't tell her some crap that you still thought of her and you still loved her when it's not true."_

_Alex was quiet and contemplative, but then he said, "So, you'd rather she believe that she spent all her years nursing a special place in her heart for a jerk and feel stupid and hurt for it."_

"_She's been feeling stupid and hurt for decades. She can handle that," Matthew said. He only realized after that that was an insensitive, almost wrong thing to say, and he almost took it back, but he decided not too. _

_It's trust. I trust Xarin is tough and she can handle the truth. If anything else, Xarin is tough and dependable. "She's not as fragile as you think she is," Matthew said. "She can handle a bit of pain."Thanks to you._

"_..I'd never dream of hurting someone I loved," Alex said, after a long, contemplative silence. They had stopped walking to look at each other and discuss this, man to man. "I'd rather bear with the guilt of lying than hurt them."_

"_And I'd rather the person I loved do anything but lie to me," Matthew retorted. "Because lies are unstable. They create an illusion for a while—for a few days, or maybe for a year, or maybe longer than that—but illusions don't last. No matter how well thought of the lie is, it'll crack and vanish. And when that illusion is gone, what do you leave the person who believed it? You leave her with less than she had in the beginning."_

_Alex gave Matthew a disbelieving look, and Matthew felt like he were staring at himself—the side of him that was a spy through and through, the side of him that relied on skillfully made lies and lived them and breathed them and offered them to anyone who might listen. _

"_...I'll say what I want to," Alex said. "I'll figure what I should tell her."_

"_If you lie to her again, I'll hunt you down again and drag you back here to apologize all over again," Matthew warned. "Save us all from that and tell the damn truth."_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Matthew never expected him to agree to his request. But wasn't Matthew Lycia's Master of Spies? Couldn't he convince anyone to his side, simply with words? Or if not words—threats. Or if not threats—violence. Matthew had every trick up his sleeve.

Grudgingly, Alex let Matthew into his home for a moment so Matthew could refresh himself before he set out again. Alex thought, as most men think, that when you leave things alone and ignore them, they disappear and people forget about them and they become nothing. Xarin was living proof that it wasn't true. Twenty years, and she hadn't forgotten a single thing. People forgive, but they don't forget so easily. Even when he had forgiven Jaffar for what the former-Fang had done to Leila, he had never completely forgotten about it. But it had stopped bugging him, only because he has confronted Jaffar about it, and they had settled their differences, and understood each other. There was a closure, an ending.

"Alex," a female voice called, interrupting his thoughts, sounding stern and urgent, and Matthew heard it as he stood in front of the wash basin and the mirror and splashed his face. "Alex!" the woman called again, even more urgently, sounding like an irate lord screaming for a servant . Matthew felt himself smirk at this situation. _And this is why I am glad I am not married. No one to yell at me like that._

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a sharp nudge to his rib, and surprised, Matthew immediately turned to whoever elbowed him. He found Alex's brown-haired wife looking up at him, looking more surprised than he was. She stared at him, speechless.

He stared at her, too. Gave her that head-to-foot gaze that he knew he gave when he studied people—new people, important people, people to spy on, to get information out of, or just people you looked at because you had nothing to do. She was short—shorter than Xarin by a few, and definitely shorter than him. Her hair was a deep, dark brown, pulled away from her face. She was caramel-skinned from the sun, her build strong like a woman of the commons who carried her children and took care of the cows and sheep. She was curvy—certainly curvier than Xarin—and when she stood she did so proudly, even as she gawked at him that moment.

He stared back, trying to figure what that Alex person saw here that Xarin didn't have.

"...Alex?" the woman asked, a whisper.

"He's trying to roast some ham over the fire, I think," said Matthew.

The woman only nodded a little, while slowly backing away from Matthew, as if she had seen a ghost. "He... He didn't tell me he had a guest."

_I imagine he doesn't tell you a lot of things._

"I came unannounced. I'm sorry about that," Matthew said, trying to sound apologetic, kind, or relatable—but he knew he failed. He saw it in the way she crept away from him, as if she knew that in his head, he was comparing her to another woman, judging what he saw. He could have tried to charm her, to make her open up to him so that he'd have a better view of who she was—but then he realized that he didn't care. His opinion was unchanged that this guy was a jerk, and trying to even begin to understand him and why he chose this woman over Xarin would nowhere be near pleasurable to him. He just wanted to drag the guy back to Xarin to apologize, get it over and done with, and forget he'd ever did this.

"Alex didn't tell me he had a brother," the woman suddenly said, and then left to find her husband.

Matthew watched her leave, puzzled by the statement. But then he turned back to the washing basin and the wall mirror, and realized why.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It never left Matthew's mind, the fact that she mistook them as brothers. With small, careful glances—lest the other man notice it and interpret it as something else—he looked at him, and realized one thing.

They _did _look alike. They had the same eyes with the same sand-brown color that almost glowed golden depending on the lighting, or their mood. They had the same built, the same complexion, the only difference was one was taller than the other.

But the worst was when Matthew closed his eyes as the other man talked—and then he realized that they _sounded_ the same laughter that almost always sounded stifled and controlled. He tended to enunciate the same words, follow the same tone, and the guy even had that same annoying habit of his—how he made those silly involuntary hand gestures as he talked. _It's like he's a copy of me, in more than one way._

But then Matthew realized one thing. To Xarin, the guy _wasn't_ a copy of him. It was _him_ who was the copy, the duplicate of an original.

Do you know what my problem is, Matthew? It's _you!_

It's you, because you have the same eyes with him. It's you, because you sound just like him. It's you, because you make me remember things I've sworn to forget. You're his ghost.

_So all the anger Xarin ever had for me was because of this man?_

And maybe, all the kindness she'd ever shown him was because of the same man as well. Xarin was his most loyal spy, the one he depended on the most, the one that put up with him the most and didn't hesitate to help whenever he needed it; she did her duty wordlessly. She was distant, yes, she never told anything of herself too much and never really let them be friends, so Matthew always wondered why exactly she unfailingly helped him out and was loyal to him even if she didn't seem to want to be friends with him.

_And maybe this is my answer. Because I look like the person she used to love. All her kindness, just because I look like someone she knew. If I didn't have the same sand-brown hair and eyes, the same built, the same complexion, the same sound as this man, I would be no one to her, like she treats almost everyone._

Matthew wondered if he were lucky, to look like someone else, or if it was his curse.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Matthew knew how it took a while for anyone to actually realize and admit that he or she looked like someone. Xarin had given him the features and gave him mental images of this man, but he had never thought, not in the slightest, that he would look like him. If Alex's wife had never mistaken one for the other, Matthew might never had realized at all.

He wished he had never realized at all.

He wondered if Alex realized that they looked alike. He must have. He had told his wife that Matthew was his brother. He must've seen their similarities. Matthew wondered if Alex found it odd, that the man Xarin stood by after he left her looked a lot like him. Did it bother him, or did it secretly make him feel smug about himself?

"You've never told me how you met her," Alex said, an observation. "You know everything that happened between me and Xarin but you've never told me how you met her."

Matthew sighed, and thought back on the day he had first met Xarin. She had managed to find Ostia's castle town and had asked around specifically for him. She had wanted to receive his endorsement to be a spy of Ostia, and had become aware of him because of their mutual friend, Kumiko. Honoring Matthew's friendship with Kumiko, Matthew decided to help her, giving word about her to the then-Duke of Ostia and explaining a bit of why a Bernese spy could be useful to them. But there was nothing to tell of about that—Xarin was no one special, just a colleague. He only got to know her better after Leila died...

"...My girlfriend died," Matthew decided to say, "The one I had before Xarin. She was murdered and I... didn't know what to do. I was angry. I wanted revenge. And at the same time, I was lonely... That was when I... met her."

Matthew pictured the story in his mind. He imagined that Leila had died, and he remembered how it felt. He would have gotten drunk in every tavern in Bern and maybe one day, out of loneliness, he went to a bathhouse and picked out Xarin for her steely, cold eyes that made her look like she knew pain, like he did.

"And then I... I cried," Matthew said, his voice cracking as he spoke, as if he were about to cry like he was saying. Alex listened intently, unaware that Matthew was lying through his teeth. Matthew had forgotten that he was lying as well. "I cried afterwards and she noticed and she just... she told me she knew how it felt. Losing someone you love. You cry because no matter what you do, no matter who you replace her with, you always end up wishing it were her."

Alex was quiet, imagining the story Matthew was telling in his head as well. "And after that, I kept seeing her again. Kept coming back to the bathhouse to see _her_ because I wanted to see someone who understood and knew what I felt. And then eventually I realized I had fallen for her. I asked her if she would live with me, and she agreed. That's how it is."

Alex nodded to himself, as if finding sense in Matthew's story. "And that has been, what? Fifteen years ago? And you've had no children yet?"

Matthew let out a little laugh, trying to imagine Xarin with a child in her arms. But then his laughter immediately vanished when he had tried to imagine why Xarin would deny him of children. "For a while we were busy," Matthew said, "and for a while we agreed that we couldn't afford to have extra mouths to feed just yet. And so we took precautions. But when the time came that I wanted children, she still didn't want them. She refused to sleep with me and... and I didn't understand why."

There was a small silence as Matthew took a breath and closed his eyes, trying to imagine the scene in his mind, the lies that somehow sounded and felt so real. "And then I found out that she had lied to me all this time. I had thought you were dead, Alex. She told me you were dead. But then she told me you were actually alive and the thought kept her awake at night, kept her from fully moving on. A part of her is still waiting for you, Alex. A part of her is still hoping you'd come back."

Again there was silence, and Matthew closed his eyes to play the made-up scenes in his mind, to imagine himself in the roles he had given himself and Xarin. He wondered what he would have said, and what she would have said back, or what he would have done, and what she would have done in return. They were lies and they were make-believe, but when Matthew thought long and hard on them, they felt real. His pain, his love, his jealously—it all began to feel so real.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

BERN-SACAE BORDER | A log cottage

When he had stepped up to the doorway of their log cottage, he felt like a man returning to his home after over a year, rather than a man who had been gone for only a few days. When Xarin walked towards him, looking relieved but also looking like she were about to scold him the next second, Matthew felt like a lost, wayward husband who was finally coming home to his wife.

He walked up to her and grinned widely, and then—muchto her surprise—he took her in his arms and held her tight.

"I'm back," he told her.

In shock, she was unable to offer him any resistance. He effortlessly managed to squeeze her in his arms, and he relished the feel of her, even if she did not return his embrace at all

"Don't be mad at me," Matthew told Xarin, face looking grave but apologetic. "I knew you'd hate me for this. But I know that you've also secretly been waiting for this moment." And then he put a hand to his trouser pockets, producing a slip of parchment and giving it to her.

She took the paper and pulled it open. And then she froze in her place and began to weep silently.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

He put his arms around her the entire night as she quietly sobbed beside him. Matthew said nothing, knowing how words could mess things up as much as they could help. He lie awake on their bed, looking up at the wooden ceiling and thinking how odd Xarin's sobs sounded against the cold silence. She never really cried. Until now.

So, she could be soft and fragile, too. He remembered the Xarin that Alex had described to him, and the Xarin that he had seen today. He felt himself hold her tighter, as if trying to protect this newfound side of her that he discovered.

"...Why did you do it?"

Xarin collected herself from her sobs to ask him that—the question he'd been asking himself ever since he started that little journey. Why did she have to ask? The end result was all that matter—she had her closure. She had her truth.

"You _needed_ it," was what Matthew found to say. "I saw what you needed. I'd be cruel if I didn't try to get it for you."

She gave him a silence that he just knew meant that she was not satisfied with his answer. Of course. He made it sound like he pitied her, and he went out of his way just out of pity, just because he was kind. Which he wasn't exactly. He would never go this far for someone unless that someone mattered a lot. Maybe for his family, or for Leila, or for his closest friends and allies like Hector.

"...Because you're the only one I have right now," Matthew suddenly said, eyes still up to the ceiling, but he held onto Xarin's arm and pulled her closer. "Because fifteen years ago you did the same thing for me. You went out of your way and tried to tell me that revenge over Leila's death was a petty thing. You told me the truth of who killed her—but only to teach me a lesson. Why would you go so far and care back then, for me? I was no one. Just some colleague. I wasn't even your superior back then."

"Because you..." Xarin began to answer, but then the words faded, as if she thought against replying. Matthew had a good bet of what was on the tip of her tongue, though.

_Because you reminded me of him._

"And now we're stuck together, and you're the only one I can trust or depend on fully. And when I saw you in pain, I just couldn't help it," Matthew continued, not even feeling his words come out of his mouth—he was too _bothered_ to hear himself. He didn't even know why he had a certain confusion about this, why at certain times he would feel spiteful and... _jealous_.

_Jealous!_ Yes, jealous was exactly the word. But what was there to be jealous of? He definitely had the upper hand against Alex: he was richer, he was more connected, he had the most prestigious title coveted by all spies in Ostia, and he was probably twice or thrice more educated. What was there to be jealous of?

_He had a girl who loved him and held on to him even after all the shit and lies he put her through. He had someone who was willing to throw away everything for him._

He had Leila, and Leila loved him to her dying breath, but that was well over decades ago. And now—_now_!—the idea of having a woman who would love him and throw everything for him sounded tempting.

_I'm jealous of the fact that he came into Xarin's life before I did. If I had met her earlier—if I were him—I wouldn't even dream of hurting her. I would never lie to her._

_And maybe then I wouldn't have to be someone's shadow. Then I would know that everything Xarin did for me was because she liked me, not because of who I looked like._

_Then maybe, she would take me seriously. She wouldn't just see me as someone who looks like her first love. She wouldn't just treat me as some man she uses just to show that she's happy and that she did better—I wouldn't be a substitute, I wouldn't be a lie. I don't want to remain a lie. I want her to consider me as a possibility._

_...Damn, I am in-love with Xarin._

_Cripes, I am in-love with Xarin! And that is why I am so jealous! I want to be him instead! I wish I were him! Damn!_

The realization made him shudder. Slowly he turned to look at Xarin, who was lying beside him, eyes closed, as if trying to get some rest. She was so vulnerable in her pain that she allowed herself to be this close to him. He stared at her, and considered his feelings. _Should I tell her? What would happen if I told her? What if she doesn't feel the same? What if she would never take me seriously?_

He took deep breaths as he tried to organize his rattled mind, and that was when graver things fell into their places. He couldn't just tell Xarin that he loved her. They were colleagues. They were spies. They were in a flawless professional partnership and trying to turn it into a romantic relationship might just ruin everything that they currently had. They were in the middle of war. They were in Bern territory. He had duties to his spies and she was one of them. She had only recently had closure with a man that she had held onto for twenty years. She needed time to get over this event. It was not the right time.

"Matthew."

He stirred, and he realized that she was staring at her now, looking into his eyes with her own glossy eyes. She looked so vulnerable now that it made him hold her tighter and closer. _Dammit, Xarin. I am in-love with you._

And maybe that was why, when their faces came close to each other, he found himself staring at her lips, contemplating a kiss. He looked at her eyes and found that she was fixated on him, too, as if she were waiting for what he was going to do.

But then he blinked, and with that the desire that fogged his eyes and his mind seemed to clear up. _She's in pain. She was crying. She needs time. If I kiss her, I just signed my own death warrant. I'll be nothing but a substitute._He looked down at her, at Xarin—and he swore she looked magical that moment, that every fiber of his being was telling him that the right thing to do was kiss her, damn everything. But he bit back his impulse and just whispered:

"Well… this is awkward."

He knew, though, that awkward would be the last word he'd use to describe the scene. It was magical. . It was a moment when he knew that a connection, a spark suddenly grew. Xarin knew it, and she was not resisting it; she was waiting for the next move, the next scene. And when she closed her eyes as invitation, he could not resist.

Her lips were soft; she almost tasted sweet. Her kiss, oddly, was not as fierce or strong or cold as Xarin was as a person; it was warm and it yielded to him, only reacting smoothly to the advances his lips made.

_Damn, why are we doing this. Oh, yes, I am in-love with her. We are in-love._

He briefly pulled away from her to catch his breath, but he never pulled away too much; he was still close enough that the tip of his nose still touched hers. He could hear her breathing. She looked soft and vulnerable and warm underneath him, nothing like the woman he knew for almost sixteen years now.

_Maybe this is how she was with Alex._

And with that one random thought, the spell broke, and Matthew woke up from its illusion.

He backed away from her, ungracefully, like a frightened cat skittering away from a ghost. _This is unreal. I can't believe I did this._ And in a few seconds confusion sank into Matthew—he felt ashamed of himself and angry at himself and her and _him_ but agonized of why he had to deprive himself of something that was so good.

Xarin sat up, and looked just as confused as him.

"…I'm not him," Matthew said, a whisper, his explanation. "I want you to know that I'm _not him_."

A cold silence fell between them.

"…I know," Xarin said. Her voice was tinged with disappointment.

_Disappointment for what?Because I stopped? Or because she wished I was someone else?_

"…I only …look like him. A little. …Okay. A lot." Matthew said.

"…I know." The disappointment was still there, only this time, her voice had a little shiver to it, as if she were going to burst into tears any moment.

And Matthew knew that he was going to break his heart if he asked her this—because he knew what she could say—but he had to ask it anyway. "You're my most trusted, Xarin. The one I depended on the most, the one I knew I could count on. You were kind and loyal to me even when I didn't demand your respect, when you were cold and spiteful to everyone else. Do I… Do I owe all that to _him_?"

"Why are you asking me that, Matthew?" she looked up to him, with that confused, helpless look, tinged with pity, as if she felt bad for him because he just had to ask her that—because she knew her answer.

_Why did he have to ask, anyway?_Xarin had a point. Here he was, lucky to be in Xarin's good graces when she was grouchy to everyone else, lucky to receive her loyalty—and he still had to question it. He knew he was going to make his own ghost if he pushed on with the question, he knew he was only going to create something that he would be insecure about. Something to be jealous of, something to be angry about. But he was already jealous and angry to begin with. But if she answered his question and said yes, that would drive him to be more jealous, to be angrier. To question everything she ever did for him, all her loyalty, and call it fake. To be angry at her and _him_ and himself.

He let the question go.

"I'm not… I'm not him," Matthew said, breathing a little, trying to calm himself a little. "I'm not someone else," he said, more firmly, as if to make her understand his point. "I'm one of me. I can't be someone else. I can't be someone's _substitute_. I'm sorry about what happened, Xarin. We got carried away."

Xarin only stared at him, unable to say anything.

"I've… I've been there, Xarin," Matthew said. "I've been so hurt and angry and confused that I wanted to hurt _anyone_ badly. Or felt so desperate I just wanted to fuck anyone. Or so sad and alone I wanted to grab any girl and turn her into a… substitute. It never works. You regret all of it later. You feel worse because you know that the truth is that you wish it were someone else."

She was silent. She only gave a small, barely visible nod that Matthew knew meant another "I know". Because sometimes, you do things and you know their consequences, but you still do them anyway, wanting to do anything just to feel better, even temporarily.

"You're awesome, Xarin," he said. "And there were too many times that you were stronger than me. You'll get through this, and I'll always be here if you ever need any support. But not… but not in that way." He sighed and decided to get up, taking the bedcovers and pulling them up to cover Xarin, who sat there in bed. "I think I'll just take a little walk outside. I need some air. You should get some sleep," he said.

He was surprised that she suddenly took his wrist before he could walk away. "It's late," she said. "It's dark outside. It might be dangerous."

He smiled a little, at how somehow, she was still concerned for him. "I'll be just outside. If something happens, I've got a you, the best Ostian field spy, to run to," Matthew said. "I can handle it. …Goodnight."

_Goodnight, Xarin. I love you._

**End of Chapter.**

0o0oo0o0o0o0o0

**Author's notes:**

Bring on the haters. I warned you this was a Matthew chapter with self-indulgent fluff. As I said in the header, I don't entirely attest to the quality of this chapter. It needs so much more critical editing and I have already edited it _a lot_. There's a whole lot of scenes I deleted—philosophical talks between Matt and Heath, and in the original the Alex dude actually comes back with Matt to face Xarin, and Xarin and Matt keep up with the act that they're married. Matthew ends up feeling awkward in it because he figures Xarin was keeping the act up only to show Alex that she did better; it felt to Matt that she was using him as a shield or to make the other man jealous. That's the original flow of things, and thus those solidify Matthew's stance on why he didn't make a move on Xarin even when he realized that he loved her, but I cut them out because they were TOO LONG. I also got the feel that the story was starting to drag. If anyone wants to read how the 'longer' version went on and think it seems cooler, I could send you a copy, I still have it.

I also wanted to delete the scene where Matt tells a made-up story of how she met Xarin to Alex, but I found that there was a powerful side to it and is a point where Matt starts realizing that he's starting to feel something real for her.

Here there are still scenes that I could delete or shorten, and some scenes that needed smoother transitions to the next ones. Matthew is supposed to be confused and puzzled for the most part of this chapter, so for the most part I think I jumped into the emotion so much that I became confused as well, and so my writing ended up seeming scattered in parts. The reason this chapter took so long to post even if the bulk of it was typed out was because of the painful editing I had to do. I edit myself. I should, because I've been editing other's works for _years_, but editing other's work is fairly very easy compared to editing yourself. Sorry. But I also know I am here on FF.N where people really read for the plot and will hardly criticize you for the things I fret about. I'm just paranoid, sorry.

**This chapter is my homage to Matthew, who is one of the characters who brought life to my fics**—from this to _The Journey_. While I've ran into other thieves in Fire Emblem, like Colm or Sothe or Chad, Matthew still stands apart from me and is special. **There's something so casual and normal about him but at the same time, there's also something extraordinary and mysterious**. Writing a guy like Matthew always gives me so much joy and inspiration, and I'm glad when readers tell me that I write him well. And when someone tells me that I DON'T write him well, I go through pains to make sure everything is OK. I remember one time I wrote an old chapter for this fic and I got a critique that I wrote Matthew wrong. I edited the entire thing and re-wrote it. If I get the same critique here, I will do the same thing. I'll edit the entire chapter or take it down. Such is my devotion to Matt.

**At the header of the fic I shared DarkBlaziken's comment about her dream guy that is not perverted, and that is basically the prompt for the majority of this chapter.** I think men are still mostly sexual creatures and society paints them that way, so it's unreal for anyone to expect a guy to not be affected/tempted by everything he sees (like gorgeous women on the street or on tv) but **the nobility of a guy can be seen when he chooses to respect that woman that he sees, even if she somehow doesn't even respect herself**. Matthew does this repeatedly in this chapter with Xarin. He doesn't deny his desire, but he chooses to shrug it off, for her sake. But I figure, with Matthew, while he's a spy by profession and the job forces him to ignore some ethics and moral standards, there's still a bit of chivalry in there. I think Matthew's supports and script points to someone who's a nice guy at heart. What strikes me the most is in his support with Oswin, he says, "At least Lord Hector isn't capable of treachery, unlike Lord Uther." I think this points out that Matt, while used to underhanded things, still places value in honesty and loyalty and would prefer them if he could.

**I've been told that I do one-sided romances fairly well.** And I've been advised to incorporate them into the story as much as I do mutual love and admiration. This is actually my take on it. Matthew somehow suddenly realizes he is in-love with Xarin. Yay!

**Yay to Jaffar aligning himself with master spies from opposing countries since who-knows-when.**I think he's a pretty clever character himself.

**Anyway, here are my points to ponder on for this sorta-filler chapter:**

Here, ironically, we had Matthew, the spy used to immoral, underhanded things, doing a sorta chivalrous thing, contrasted by Heath, the knight who is the very image of chivalry, doing the opposite a few chapters ago(albeit with solid justifications as to why, but still, it's a contrast). **Clearly, there are people who are more noble than they look**. Legault also springs to mind as one who fits this role.

And here I also turn tables on Matthew, with him having to deal with being compared to another guy, when usually we have fics where he compares other girls to Leila. I imagine that after twenty years, Matthew would have learned to let go. **His love for Leila is **_**love**_**, not an **_**obsession**_**, like we see with Xarin. Do you think love lets go?**

We also have progress a previous question—**do you hurt the person you love with the truth, or lie to save them from hurt?**

Do you think Matthew's fears about making a move on Xarin after he realizes he loves her are true? Do you think, like Matt thinks, that he just "signed his own death warrant" if he made a move on her while she was clearly still not over the past relationship? **Do you think Matthew's choice was wise, or stupid? (**Do you prefer a guy who immediately makes his move or one that studies everything first and waits?)

**If you met someone who eerily reminds you a lot of a past great love, will you try to get as close to him/her as possible or stay away?**

Ciao!

-kageshoujo

EDIT: Screw it. I wrote a chapter about Matthew being someone's look-alike and Xarin growing a soft spot for him because of that, AND THEN I meet someone who looks exactly like my ex in real life, the only difference would be the height. Fate tends to play these tricks on me. I don't know if I should feel privileged or creeped out; the things I write in fiction tend to awfully happen to me in real life. Anything like this ever happen to you?

(And btw, yes, I ran away from him as fast as I could even if he was flirting with me and telling me I was cute and after my interview he waited around for me and was calling me. I ignored him and ran away before he ended up with my number. O.O I REGRET ALL OF IT! XD I should have slipped him my number! Hahaha!)

*Apparently DarkBlaziken says this is because I am "blessed by the goddess". lol. The goddess should give me a job, then.


	13. The Illusion of Contentment Part 2

A/N: Chapter is supposed to be longer but I hit a writer's block and I decided to post it to get feedback that will hopefully inspire me enough to get over my block. xoxo kageshoujo

PART TWO

ONE MONTH LATER

BERN KEEP | The Altar to the Patron God

Ever since Zephiel became king, it has been reported that he had never bothered to visit the castle altar to pray or bother to appear to do it. His relations with the church of Elimine was neutral—he had treated the Church well but did not even make the effort of any pretense of his preferences. It was the Princess Guinevere who had kept the relationship of Bern and the Church at peace, and it was the princess who would be seen every morning at Mass, or kneeling in prayer before the small and out-of-the-way altar in Bern Keep. The Queen Kumiko would drop by once or twice, but more so out of fondness for Guinevere, but apart from that, like Zephiel, she did not put on any pretenses.

As most Bernese do. They were an incredibly practical people, and for them worship of the gods or following their decrees were hardly to be bothered with and only got in the way of life. Of all the kingdoms in Elibe—of Etruria, Lycia, and Bern—Bern was the one with the fewest shrines and temples and churches to the gods. The Master of Spies Anko has once put it in a simple, harsh truth—_the gods names are only good for swearing. And for their festivals—an excuse for every Bernese to get drunk._

And that may have explained why even Bern Keep placed the Altar in such an out-of-the-way position as well—on an absolutely silent floor of the Keep, almost near the Master of Spies' office, where one had to climb and absurd amount of stairs to reach. While the place was as ornate and beautiful as any shrine built to a god, with engravings and decors from gold and old wood, it had been lacking upkeep and updating, showing just how little fondness the king and queen had for it.

Kumiko had come to visit that chilly morning. The room was cold, telling the truth of how no one came to visit or pray. When in fact, they should, Kumiko thought, as she looked up to the engravings along the walls and windows. The altar was dedicated to the god of warmaking, Bern's patron god. You would think that in war, the commanders and captains and generals would have asked for their god's blessing, but they did not, or Kumiko just did not see them, since she rarely went to the place herself.

There were relics and artifacts enshrined in the place as well—gemstones and crowns and weapons and jewelry. Stories have said that whenever a military leader of Bern had won a battle, he placed an offering here, to thank the god. Kumiko looked through the items, trying to figure if one or two of them had been given by her husband, or by people like General Murdock. Until she had stopped by one object—the royal sword of Bern, wielded only by the kings. It was gold and gilded with rubies and amethysts—such a beautiful weapon, with blades that glinted even in the faintest light, showing how sharp they were still. And Kumiko remembered Guinevere, clad in her red royal robes, walking with her through the items of the altar, telling her a story.

"...What is this?" Kumiko had asked the princess. The memory had been so long ago—she had not even been married to Zephiel yet that time, and had only been a tactician employed by the king. She had went to the altar room out of boredom and had found the princess there, who had gratefully walked her through the chamber and told her many stories. But the sword, in particular, had stood out to Kumiko. It looked like a far more greater thing than any of the other offerings laid to the god, and seemed to have a presence that had declared to people that it was a thing of importance.

Guinevere turned to look at what Kumiko meant, and then said, "That is the royal sword of Bern, a gift from the patron god to the first king, Hartmut. And so only a King of Bern may use the weapon, but it is such an important relic that it is hardly used and serves a mostly ceremonial purpose."

"It doesn't look ceremonial to me," Kumiko said, staring at the sword's edges that still seemed sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone, hardly what would be expected of a sword so old.

Guinevere had walked towards Kumiko, so she may stare at the sword as well. "Legend says it was blessed by the god of war, thus giving it magical properties. It has not rusted or dulled since Hartmut's time. And despite it's size, I have been told by my grandfather, father, and my brother that is it surprisingly lightweight."

"And so it is... a Legendary weapon?" Kumiko asked.

"Ah, Legendary weapons," Guinevere said. "A weapon blessed by the gods to be able to kill Dragons. Blessed by the gods who had sided on humans, that is. We Bernese do believe this is one."

They had both stared down at the sword, thoughts both distant. Guinevere, in the remainder of the story that she had grown familiar to for the last two years, and Kumiko, recalling the feel of a Legendary weapon in her hands. In her campaign with Lord Eliwood and Hector years back, she had helped acquire such weapons, and had seen them and held them. She remembered the sheer strength the weapon made her feel simply holding it, and how Dragons have fallen when Lord Eliwood and Hector had used them years back …

_Blessed by the gods. That must be true indeed, Kumiko thought. I have held a Legendary weapon in my hand and if anything else, and I dare think it, it had made me feel like a god myself._

"…But the god of war was a most troubled being," Guinevere continued, smiling a little, for she knew what lay ahead of the tale. "His wife was a mortal—a mere mortal, yet always contesting him. A brilliant tactician, she was. Whenever he had blessed an army to win a war, if she were the tactician for the other side, she would always, always win."

Kumiko had remembered this story. She did not remember exactly who had told her, but she had remembered. "The goddess of war," she had told Guinevere. "She ended up being the goddess of war. The god of war despised her for matching his skill in warmaking, and cunningly traps her into being an immortal, and later, to being her wife, to get rid of her. I know the legend, my lady."

Guinevere nodded, and now that Kumiko thought back, she realized that Guinevere's smile was knowing, as if she were aware of something that Kumiko was not. "Yes, Kumiko. It is good to see you are well-versed in Bern's history and folklore. So when the war between Dragons and men broke out, the god of war had supported the Humans. His wife was well against it and thought that the war was nonsense and should be concluded without anyone taking sides."

"I know, princess Guinevere," Kumiko had said. "This argument becomes his undoing because she eventually kills him for it. That is how it ends, right? Though I honestly wonder how it is possible to kill an immortal, but if you were immortal too, I guess there must be ways."

Guinevere's knowing smile had shifted down into a slight frown now. "Yes," she said. "The legends do say that she had ended him. And this sword is supposedly the last weapon the god of war had blessed before he died," said Guinevere, as she and Kumiko turned back to the sword again, studying it more carefully now, eventually noticing the smallest, white inscriptions on its blade. "It supposedly says: 'To the one destined to wield this—great power shall be your blessing. But women shall be your curse."

And at that moment Kumiko had thought back on her history lessons, at the kings of Bern that have rose mightily and have fallen, one way or another, thanks to a woman. The god and goddess of war were the first. King Desmond was one—part of his demise was because he has had so many mistresses and refused to love his one wife. "And such is the heavy burden of every king of Bern," Guinevere had said. "...All the power in the world, but undone by one woman. ...I hope this is not true. I think Zephiel will be an exception. I think a woman will do him more good than harm."

Kumiko had stood there, gazing at the sword, remembering Guinevere's words. Remembering the legends, and making connections. Zephiel had trapped her, too. Married her so that he can get her out of the way. They had both been military geniuses in their own rights. He started an absurd war that she did not at all agree to. The pieces had fit. He was the god of war; she was the goddess.

_...And does that mean I will have to knife him in the back to end this?_

Kumiko shook her head to herself. "It's just a legend and folklore," she had said out loud, as if to affirm herself. _That's just one version. You know how it goes with legends—they have many versions. You can never really figure out the truth. The god and goddess are probably out in the middle of nowhere playing chess and laughing at all the messed-up legends the people are talking about them, if I knew better._

...I agree with Guinevere. I think Zephiel will be an exception.

..._I refuse to be his curse._

0o0o0o0o0o0o

LYCIA | Ostia's Castle Town

The days had dragged to crucial weeks, and slowly but surely, Ostia of Lycia was starting to stand up on its own two feet again. Much help from Etruria was evident in all of this—Etruria's soldiers were everywhere, aiding the reconstruction projects, sending supplies like lumber and stone and food to help. At first, General Cecilia of Etruria stayed behind to oversee everything and coordinate with Ostia, but soon she was called back to her home country, and Erk of Reglay was left in charge as the representative to Etruria.

Honestly, Erk thought, he was only left in charge because of Cecilia's trust for him as another student of Lord Pent. That aside—and that fact that he was the only one diplomat enough in the sea of soldiers Etruria sent to Ostia—he would not be considered. But he had wanted to stay, too. If he had returned to Etruria, his path to take would not be clear—he would return to Nabata, back to Lord Pent and Lady Louise, to give word about the war, and then what?

But, here, in Lycia, he could help. He could play and important role, negotiating between Etruria and Ostia. He handed out food and grain and drink to the citizens. He even started teaching magic to the children, or the mages who had less experience than he did. Pent had always told him that he could be a teacher himself, only Erk didn't really believe it. But seeing all these little children who had to learn a skill, even magic, to be able to defend themselves within this war...

_I'm sure Lord Pent would approve of this that I'm doing. He'd do this, too, if it were him. I'll just send him a message to relay what I have learned. He might take action as well._

Every noon, before sunset, children from around Ostia gathered around him, underneath an oak tree, delighting in the food he shared with them and the lessons he had to offer on magic. He not only shared knowledge, but shared comforting stories as well, of how Pent had treated him as a student, about the comforts of communing with nature, about once fighting a war, fifteen years ago, and coming out victorious-so he knew there was hope. About fighting Dragons, wielding legendary tomes, meeting legends.

The children, of course, listened in awe, but treated it as a fairy tale, a myth, but it gave them hope nonetheless. Until a wide-eyed, green haired boy started sitting in his classes and listening to his stories intently, nodding as if in agreement to the details he gave about fighting, magic, and dragons. He listened and asked questions as if he had been there, as if he were aware of the story. The young boy's magic held great potential as well. There was raw power, but lack of control and precision. Everyday Erk worked with him a little more after the rest of the kids had left, giving him more and more pointers on Anima magic.

"No, no," Erk chastised, after the boy, named Lugh, performed another basic Fire spell. "Too much power. But lack of control and range. If you keep pouring sheer force into the spell, you risk it blowing in your face. More focus. Less force."

The green-haired boy pouted. "I'm as focused as focused can be," he insisted.

The boy certainly held wrong beliefs and foundations about magic, if he believed he was focused enough. Lugh believed he was focused, but Erk saw how he put force into every spell, as if insisting, and insisting, on getting it right. While his perseverance was astounding, he also had to learn that magic power came from the spirits, and the mage knows that they are truly the ones powerful, and not him. He cannot force brilliance-instead he had to commune with the spirits, be one with them.

And so Erk asked, "Who did you learn your magic from?" attempting to fix wrong learning patterns taught.

"Well, my mom," the boy said.

"She may have had some errors in her teaching. I was the same, in the beginning. I was so excited about magic and wanted to be great that I forced myself, reading and studying and practicing everyday, locking myself out from the world, that I had collapsed. I thought I was being focused and trying my best. But then my mentor taught me that that wasn't what magic was about. It was about being one with nature, so enveloped with them that you the magic feels natural, comes naturally to you. It was about listening, and learning how to be calm and focused at the same time."

The little boy pondered that for a while. And then he said, "I think that's how my mother did it, too, now that you mention it. Magic flows naturally around her. It makes her happy, it almost completes her. I never noticed. But then again I really didn't learn from her. She had kept her tomes from me and my brother, never letting us see them. The only time she used her magic was to start a fire for the fireplace."

Well, that was curious. "Why did she hide this from you? Why didn't she teach you instead? How did you learn, then?"

Lugh looked up into the air, as if thinking of things long past. "My dad didn't like it. He says that magic was dangerous, that fighting was dangerous. He's great with swords and stuff, but he doesn't want to pass it on to us. I snuck around and found where my mother hid her tomes. I read them and read them. But I barely understood them-I think I was just seven? My mom found out, but kept the tomes in the same place. And then when she'd use magic spells, she'd say the incantations out loud, so I could hear them. I think she wanted us to learn, but didn't want to argue with our father, so she did it that way. I think I practically learned by listening to her recite the incantations."

Erk was surprised. It took years and years to get the incantations right if you had studied it mostly by listening to it. The boy was aided by tomes, but reading a tome didn't make a mage, there were things to be learned, and the boy had learned it by watching his mother. It was genius. A talent like this is rare. Nino, someone Erk used to know a good fifteen years ago, had learned through the same method, though...

And then something seemed to fall into place as he looked down at the green-haired boy-green hair! Nino had green hair, had the same wide-eyed look whenever she learned something new, had the same cheerful disposition. Could they be related in some way? Is he Nino's son, even? But the boy said he was orphaned, didn't have any parents. If so, was Nino... dead?

"And then when I had my birthday four years ago, my mom gave me a book, she said it will help me learn magic," Lugh continued. He drew into the satchel at his side and came up with a dirty book with childish illustrations. "All it has inside is pictures of trees and fields. I didn't understand what my mom meant. But maybe I understand now. You said I had to be one with nature."

The book was filled with pictures through and through, illustrations of nature. But Erk knew that even if he didn't even open the thing. He'd given the book to Nino fifteen years ago.

"Your mother is Nino," Erk just muttered, out of the blue.

Lugh must have heard it, because the boy sharply turned to look up at the older man, a questioning look in his eyes. Those eyes looked like they would spill into tears pretty quickly. "Sir Erk? You said..."

"Nino," Erk repeated, more audibly now. He was sure of it, it was almost as if the spirits were telling him so. "Nino, your mother. Green hair, bright smile. A powerful mage. A wonderful girl."

Lugh smiled and nodded, but looked near to tears as well. "Yes," he squeaked. "Yes, that's her."

"She's a brilliant mage," Erk said, feeling himself being flooded by nostalgia, recalling memories with Nino. "She comes from a prominent family of mages of Lycia, I heard. She was sweet and kind. And beautiful. I admired her. How is she?"

And with that question, the little boy burst into tears, and with that Erk knew that something went wrong. Was Nino truly dead? Erk sat beside the boy and began to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. He was never the best person at giving comfort, but this was Nino's son, and she had been a great friend. He wanted to try.

"...She's gone," Lugh eventually said, between sobs. "She left. ...We used to live moving from place to place, avoiding the bounty hunters. Dad was... he was a great guy, but he had this shady past. Bounty hunters kept running after him. And then one day, he just... just vanished. He left a note saying he went away to save us from danger, that he might never come back at all. Mom was devastated. She became depressed. But then she got up and started searching for him everyday. One day she took us to Grandpa Jan and said she'd be back for us. She never came back. Ray and I ran away to look for her, and from all our wandering we reached Lycia and the orphanage and... oh... What if they're both dead? My parents are both dead."

Erk took the crying boy in his arms, patting his back to comfort him. Erk closed his eyes and thought as well. _Nino? Dead? No. She's younger than many of us were, she couldn't just die. With her level of magic, it would be difficult for any bounty hunter to kill her. Magic could fend off hundreds, or thousands, and by the end of their campaign fifteen years ago Nino had been powerful enough to fight Dragons. She's alive. She must be. She is_.

"She's alive," Erk said, assuring the boy, as Erk closed his eyes and tried to focus. If Nino were alive and still practicing magic, he could still feel her, the Anima spirits could still feel her. Anima was the magic of life and nature-if she were alive, he could feel her. "...She's alive. I can still feel her. I can still feel her magic. It's still strong enough for me to sense. She's still out there, somewhere."

Lugh had pulled away from him now, wiping the tears off his face with his hands. "...Are you sure?" he asked Erk, sounding hopeful.

"Positive," Erk responded. "Don't worry. Your mom can handle herself. She is a master mage of Anima-the spirits will always protect her. When I am through with my work here in Lycia, we can find her together. I'll help you."

BERN | Bern Keep

0o0o0o0o0

When evening came Zephiel spent less time in his study, surprisingly, and stayed up late with Kumiko, chatting until she was tired and wanted to sleep. She always slept before him, even if he was the one who always woke earlier than her and should have been more tired. But sleep was one thing that did not always come easy to Zephiel. In the silence, when there was nothing to do, nothing to think of, no plans to make, nothing nothing _nothing_—the horrors of his past were able to catch up with him, filling his mind with frightening thoughts. And so he always read or wrote or did something until his mind was too tired to think and only wanted sleep. There was no time to think of nightmares past. If he was still, if he did nothing, his mind would only wander.

Sometimes, he would lay in bed with Kumiko and opt to chat with her there, and then she would snuggle into the warmth of his arm around her. And there they would talk, or he would read a book and they would discuss it. And maybe he would try to please himself a little, too, at times. He would kiss her and he would let the kiss be long and intense—Kumiko never stopped him. She was more pliable now, a little more willing. Even as his mouth would wander and he would start kissing her on her neck, or the bare of her shoulders, she would let him. And on certain nights Kumiko would only sigh and allow herself into his arms and fall asleep in his embrace—and those were the only times Zephiel did not allow himself to get up and do something, for fear of ruining her sleep. He would stay still and hold her sleeping form, allowing the dreaded silence to take over and make his thoughts wander.

But, oddly, he found that they didn't. When he would see Kumiko sleeping in his arms, smiling, as peaceful as a baby, he would feel peaceful too. And for once, he found that the silence offered a peace, not a haunt. And Zephiel found himself falling asleep easy.

BERN KEEP | The Sage's Study

The Sage's Study was an area in Bern Keep's grand library set aside for the Court Sages, the resident masters of Anima magic. And thus the area was surrounded by volumes and volumes of books on magic, nature, and life, and various contraptions and devices used in these studies. There were curtained alcoves lined along the walls if a court sage ever wanted a more private area to study. And in the middle of it all was a huge oval table, where the Court Sages from different regions of Bern sat and discussed among themselves whenever they officially met. Sometimes the king used the area as well to meet with foreign ministers and representatives.

But of current, there was but one court sage sitting on the grand table—and the youngest of them all—Nino. A far cry from the girl who used to not know how to read and write, she was now among Bern's best minds and mages. Though Nino knew in herself that her title was more of due to the king's favor on Kumiko, she refused to be brought down by the fact. She refused to let it take down her worth. And so she was seated on the oval table, with innumerable stacks of books before her, more than one of them open for her scrutiny as she took down notes.

It was the king's trail that she was looking out for. She constantly looks among the shelves and among the list of books in the library to see what the king reads, and looks for copies of them. Recently the copies of the books Kumiko had confirmed to be in Zephiel's study had been received by Nino as well—she had to ask a few copies from the Military Academy or from Etruria just to be able to read them herself. And then there was the task of bothering certain historians from different academies of Bern, trying to get copies of every speech the king ever said in the past two years.

Nino had thought, a few months ago, that this would do something, that this would show a side of the king that he hid to even his wife. Nino had thought that seeing similarities in what he read would expose certain patterns in his thinking. But so far, it was a challenging task. The king was such a broad reader, it was impossible to make connections for every book or essay. But as Nino worked throughout the months that passed, slowly, a pattern was emerging. And Nino knew that she was on to something.

_Something... Something... but what exactly?_

"Caught up in research, aren't we, Lady Nino?"

Nino, startled, nearly toppled over one of the ink pots on the table. "O-Oh!" she said, as she looked up from her preoccupation and turned to the person who spoke—another famed Sage of Bern, the General Brenya. "Yes, Lady Brenya. Just a little research."

Brenya stood there—in that seductive way she almost always effortlessly did, Nino thought. She wondered if Brenya herself knew how attractive she was. Porcelain skinned, tall, curvy and flawless-that was how General Brenya was, and she showed it off. She was always dressed with a neckline too low or a skirt slit so high, even the most trained eyes were tempted to wander. Nino knew for a fact that when Jaffar conversed with the Brenya, she would closely pay attention to her husband's eyes, lest they wander in other directions. But Jaffar, as if aware of Nino's gaze, had always impressively kept his eyes on Brenya's face. ...But not everyone is as successful as him.

And yet for General Brenya's taste in clothes, she was an esteemed woman of Bern, and not a countryside whore. She was civil, educated, and she demanded respect from anyone. It was impossible to talk about her without hearing a comment about her fine skin and her finer breasts, but that aside, she was never disrespected in Bern, and showed no cause to be treated that way. Why the general dressed so scandalously was always a puzzle to Nino when the general never acted like her clothes imply... Nino had theories to answer this, but they were that-theories. There could be other explanations.

General Brenya walked around the grand table, looking through the spines of the books that Nino had set down, trying to find anything interesting.

"I see this is not related to magic at all," Brenya remarked, looking closely at the titles of Nino's selections. "Much of these are books on Bern's history and politics. I never knew you were taken by these topics, Lady Nino."

"I didn't know I'd develop a taste for it," Nino said, feeling something like a lump in her throat as she lied to the general. But she knew she had to be careful; she was never really sure if Brenya was an ally or a foe in this situation—she was too loyal to the king and too avoidant of the queen to be swayed in another direction.

"Are you sure this is a taste for politics? If it is, well, I am not a fan of politics myself," Brenya said, a revelation, with a little laugh. "I learn it because I must, as a General. But I am much more content discussing magic and science. Murdock is the most astute politician among us. But he has been in service longer—longer than Zephiel had sat on the throne, so that may..."

Her words faded, as she—and Nino—both realized that she had said something wrong. "His Majesty," she said, "His Majesty Zephiel, I mean. I listen too much to Murdock, who frequently only calls him by his first name. His habit must have rubbed off on me."

It was a lie, that much Nino knew. She had spent more time with Brenya that Kumiko or Jaffar did, and she had seen how the Sage's face would light up whenever the king gave her attention, how it would make her more sure of herself, how she mentioned the king more than usual. How he gave her _hope_. Nino had seen how Brenya avoided Kumiko's path, oftentimes asking Nino instead if she wanted something asked of the queen. The puzzling thing was that Kumiko, too, stayed away from Brenya, as if they had a silent understanding that they were the types that would not get along. In comparison, Kumiko talked to General Murdock or even General Narshen more. But with Brenya...

Maybe she saw it, too, Nino thought. Maybe Kumiko also saw the way the Sage's face lit up when the king greeted her, or praised her, and knew it was more than being flattered that the General felt. Brenya might be the most powerful woman in Bern, military-wise, but she was still a woman—unable to keep her emotions from showing, no matter how hard she tried.

"Oh, I do it, too, all the time," Nino said, trying to assure Brenya that she understood. "Her Majesty only ever refers to His Highness as 'Zephiel', and so sometimes I find myself calling him just that, too, when it is only Jaffar and I alone and no one around would hear anyway."

And in a surprising turn of events, Brenya asked Nino:

"...How is Her Majesty?"

She had never asked about Kumiko. This was the first time. When Nino recovered from her little shock, she responded. "Her Majesty is well. She is her usual self, if I may say so."

It was a trained, safe answer, the kind that courtiers gave when they did not want something to be talked about, and Brenya knew that. "I imagine she is not taking the war very well. I have not been in Bern Keep much because of duties elsewhere, but I've heard rumors..."

Nino felt herself give an inaudible gasp. Brenya had just spoken of the war, and the queen, and rumors. Three things that the king were not so keen on hearing about, so the topics were almost forbidden, taboo, most especially if they had _anything _to do with each other—such as the queen's thoughts of the war, or rumors about the queen, or rumors about the war, or rumors about what the queen thought of the war. It was surprising to hear General Brenya, of all people, opening this up. Nino felt too curious to let this pass, to not figure what this meant.

"Kumiko will never support the war," Nino found herself telling Brenya. "She will stay by the king's side but she will never openly support any war, and it is up to her and the king to make an understanding about their differences."

"And she and him are settling their differences?" Brenya asked. "I heard what the servants and the courtiers say and I see her and His Majesty acting like they have no troubles. And so, are their opinions settled? Did they reach some form of agreement?"

There was no agreement, Nino was sure, at least not yet. If Kumiko had reached a certain level of understanding with the king on this matter, Nino was sure Kumiko would not be able to help but tell her about it. Everything that was happening now was a courtship, the long prelude to the part where they actually talked about the things that matter most—like the war. It was only a battle of who could keep their head above the water, of who would trust the other, of who would submit to the other, and they were trying to win over the other with sweet words and promises and smiles. Nino was not blind to not see it. But at the same time, she also knew that this was the only good way for Kumiko to win, so she might as well try it.

"I'd like to imagine the king and queen are settling their differences," Nino said, "but I have no actual news that they are."

"Well," Brenya said, "I'd like for them to."

Nino sharply cocked her head to the side, strongly puzzled by this sudden revelation. If her speculations on what the female general felt were true, she wouldn't be wanting the king and queen to be in better terms. She would want them to fall apart. She would want them to argue, so that in the queen's absence, she can comfort the king, allure him.

"I thought you..." Nino began, realizing the only way to get the facts was to ask the other sage straight, to the point. "...I thought you fancied the king."

"Of course I do not," Brenya replied, too quickly. She may have spoke denial, but Nino had seen the way her porcelain cheeks turned blush red, and hear the nervousness in her voice. Certainly, Brenya was lying. Nino could feel it. She almost said something to the general, but then Brenya continued, with more control over her emotions now, "I admire the king as a ruler, and as one of his subjects I am in awe of him. I am glad that he has found Lady Kumiko. She gives him such joy, and everyone sees that."

There was almost a note of bitterness in the general's last statement, and it stung Nino to hear it. But Kumiko was her friend, and Nino would let no other women stand in the way of her friend's path. "Kumiko does give the king so much joy. With her he is a different man. Let us hope they stay happy together."

BERN KEEP | The Royal Gallery

Kumiko sat still, holding a smile, hands folded in her lap, as she tried to converse with the man before the easel and between the smile she was holding onto so precariously. "I swear, Lord James, enough with the flattery, you are making me laugh too much and I cannot do that because I fear it will ruin the painting."

"Nonsense, Your Highness," the man standing before the easel and canvas—Lord James of Wiechenhof—said with his sunny smile. "I was painting an abstract version of you to begin with, so it will hardly matter."

With that Kumiko looked surprised—"You did not!"—and then got up from her seat to check the marquis' painting. And there she saw herself, seated on a stool, the sights of the Royal Gallery in her background. It was Bern Keep's central room for art, with its walls lined up with paintings of all the monarchs and royalty of Bern dating back to Hartmut the Hero. Apart from that, tables and couches filled the room, as the Gallery was also a place where Guinevere loved to host tournaments on games like chess or checkers or a contest on poetry.

"Looks fairly good," Kumiko remarked, as she studied the painting on the marquis' easel. "Though you do make me look a little younger than my age, don't you think?"

The red-haired lord only smiled. "You look a few years younger these days, majesty. The king's courtship is doing wonders to your skin, if I may say so."

The queen only gave him a playful little shove, and got back to her stool, and then James bent toward his work and resumed painting.

Months before this, Lord James would not even be at the Keep. During the war, he was strictly at his region, to the southernmost part of Bern which was rigged by mountains, overseeing the mining. Wiechenhof was largely a mining region and when the war occurred, so high was the demand for weaponry and armor among Bern's soldiers that Lord James was kept busy seeing to it that everything was well, lest he risk the king's displeasure. And while he did do well at ruling his land, Lord James was really a courtier, a man of Bern Keep. Before the war had happened he had stayed in the castle and attended the king, and was the source of life for all the evening entertainment. There was something about him that demanded attention—or it was just his wit, or his dashing looks and red hair, or the fact that his young wife has long died, so women tended to gather around him and try to attract him.

But he did not see them. He flirted with them like an expert courtier, but what everyone only saw was his relationship with the queen. Of all the courtiers, all the nobles, he was the only one that was in her circle, the one she didn't mind sharing her thoughts with. Kumiko found it hard not to. While he was an expert courtier in many ways, there was still a streak of brutal frankness that James had that Kumiko found better than the lies and flattery that she was surrounded by in the Keep. This friendship was the cause of many a speculation in Bern Keep years ago, but Kumiko shrugged it all off.

Zephiel, however, didn't. "I can see your husband still holds something against me," James said, as he gave a little glance to the back of the room—lined with Kumiko's attendants, some of Zephiel's own groomsmen, and even a few Royal Guards. "He does not trust me enough to leave alone in a room with you. A crowd like this is too much to simply watch over the process of painting the queen's royal portrait."

"It makes me feel good that he is still jealous sometimes," Kumiko said.

"_Sometimes_?" James asked in disbelief. "No, my lady, he is jealous more than _sometimes_. Any man who dares approach you is met by his immediate discouraging glare. I am the only one foolish enough to brave it."

Kumiko looked thoughtful, and then nodded a little. "...Zephiel holds on to the things he wants. When he wants something, he never lets go of it."

"And so you are aware of how much he actually _wants_ you," the red-haired lord said. "I've heard all the stories when I was at home, and now I am surprised that you actually still have your throne."

Kumiko couldn't help but laugh. Of all the things she did, of all the ways she had defied Zephiel this season, she hadn't expected to still be queen at all.

"But now he is still treating you like a prized gem that he cannot let go of," James looked thoughtful, knotting his brows at his painting. "When is the little baby due, Majesty?"

Kumiko looked puzzled out of her mind. "Excuse me?"

"The boy. ...Or girl, if that is what the gods will," James said, but he still earned the same befuddled look from the queen. And so he said, "My lady, more than half the keep is saying you are with child."

"W-What?"

"You're pregnant," James simply said.

The word very nearly made Kumiko stumble out of her stool. "Pregnant?" she repeated, shocked. Much to her embarrassment, that came out a little loud—a few people with keen ears looked over to her, but thankfully most of them were engrossed in their own chatters. Kumiko flushed and struggled to regain her composure, but the damage was done—_the word_ had made her rattled. "Of course I'm not _pregnant_," she muttered. "Where did that absurd rumor come from?"

"People speculate, your majesty. And they see the king's kindness towards you, how he romances you. They make guesses," James said. "Men don't just treat women the way he does to you if you have not rewarded him something to be joyful about. An heir is an easy guess of what a king wants. Some may have thought that you have given him this gift."

Kumiko sadly shook her head. She had tried to picture herself with child and starting a family with Zephiel—but then the image would not come to her mind. She could not see it. "No, it is not true," Kumiko told James, almost with melancholy.

James looked up to the queen who had now turned to staring at her lap with a frown, and back to the woman in his painting, who was all smiles and radiant. He had hit a vulnerable spot with what he had discussed with her. But he felt it must be talked about. "...And so everything is the same with you and him. And if that is how things are, why is he being especially kind to you? I am curious. Do you have any idea why, majesty?"

"...No," Kumiko said. "Apart from what he said that he wants me to learn to trust him."

"And so there is an expectation," James pointed out. "He is kind to you—and he expects it to get him somewhere. Men are kind to women when a woman has rewarded him with joy—or when they expect something in return. Mayhap the king is expecting something in return."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Kumiko had been quiet when Jaffar had walked beside her from the Royal Gallery, Jaffar noted. She had been happy and cheerful when she had met with the lord of Wiechenhof, and now emerges from it with sadness. Lord James was not known for leaving people feeling sad, though. It could be any other reason. With women, Jaffar knew, it could be _any_ reason.

"...Jaffar?" Kumiko called, her voice echoing throughout the almost-empty hallways as they walked.

Jaffar stopped for a moment to turn his head towards the queen. "Kumiko."

"...What does it mean when you are kind to Nino?" she asked.

Jaffar blinked at the question, for a few seconds finding it absurd and irrelevant. "Kumiko, I am always kind to Nino. She is my wife."

"Not just normal ordinary kind," Kumiko said. "What does it mean when you treat her special? Do special things that you know she loves? What does it mean when you go the extra mile?"

And everything clicked for Jaffar, and he understood what Kumiko meant by asking the question. "...There are many explanations, Kumiko. For instance, when I've made a little offense to Nino, I try to make up for it. When she has done something special for me, too, I return the favor. When there is a special occasion I plan for something nice, as well. Or sometimes I am kind to her simply because I love her."

He had missed a point that she was worried about. "...What if you want _something_ from her? When you want favors, you treat her kindly too, right?"

"Kumiko, that is a general rule which doesn't just apply to your spouse. When you want favors from _anyone_, one method is to flatter them and butter them up. Another method is to threaten them."

There was silence, and for a moment Jaffar and Kumiko walked on. But then Kumiko paused again, and asked:

"...So what do you think does Zephiel want from me?"

Jaffar had been right; these questions were all along asked for because of the king. But there were too many things to say, too many sides to discuss—and in the middle of a barely secure hall where anyone could have been listening in the shadows. There could be many interpretations to Zephiel's kindness, more with the fact that Jaffar knew that Bern had not released Ilia and Sacae and had held onto them, still sending their soldiers to them. This could be a distraction, so Kumiko will focus less on the war that is happening outside the Keep. This could be a preventive measure, so when Zephiel attacks Lycia again, Kumiko will be less abrasive. Or this could be an attempt to put Kumiko under the king's control, to sway him to his side, so she will no longer go against the rest of his war plans. Everything could be purely political.

_...But then again everything could also be purely heart, and the king just a man who wanted his wife to trust him._

"I cannot tell what he wants," Jaffar said. "All I see is that it is wise that you be kind to him in return." _If you play along long enough, his motives will eventually show._

"And I am kind. Unfailingly," Kumiko said. "But his kindness is on a scale unparalleled. And so I... I wonder if he has certain expectations from me. Lord James said something about this being some sort of investment of his."

And investment just waiting for a return. That was a good way of putting it. Even kindness expected return, and Jaffar knew that. Rarely is a person kind without expecting the other person to be kind back—rarely is there a selfless person in this world. Unless it was Nino, who had a trait of being kind _just because, _without expecting anything in return. Jaffar doubted the king of Bern was like that.

"...Everything we do is an investment of sorts," Jaffar said. "We plant something; we expect to reap some benefits. It's natural that there are expectations for everything that we do. The least that the king expects, in my opinion, is that you return his kindness and treat him with respect."

A silence followed after that, and Kumiko began to fidget, and Jaffar was sure he saw her flush. She looked as if she were embarrassed to be in her presence that very moment, and for a moment Jaffar thought back on his words to figure if he had said something wrong.

And then she just asked him: "...Do you suppose he expects me to let him have me, then? To... _you know_?"

Jaffar was caught in such disbelief that he left his mouth open for a second. _I cannot believe I am having this conversation with Kumiko._ "I cannot read minds," Jaffar said. "I cannot tell."

Kumiko was still as red as a tomato, looking so embarrassed it seemed she might faint any second. "I ask you because you're good at predicting things. And, above that, you're a man. You would know."

"Doesn't he tell you?" Jaffar asked, still caught in some disbelief. _You should be talking to a woman about this. Not me_. "Doesn't he ask? Doesn't he touch you?"

"_No_," Kumiko said. But then she added, "Oh, _yes_, he kisses me so intensely, I always think that he might just be about to do it. But then he just stops at that and... and I'm so confused, and I cannot just ask him what he wants. It's so... embarrassing."

_And so you ask me. Somehow, I find this even more embarrassing._ "Just... don't... don't think too much on it," Jaffar said. "If he desires you that much, he'll tell. He'll show that he does. You'll know it."

There was an awkward silence, both Kumiko and Jaffar trying to forget that the conversation ever began, for all the embarrassment it both made them feel.

Eventually, Jaffar suggested, "...Why don't you talk to Nino instead about this?"

"I can't. I find it awkward," Kumiko told Jaffar, and that made him give her a puzzled look. "Out of everyone in this world, I find that Nino is the very definition of the word 'innocent'. She's such a sweet woman, and sometimes, I look at her like a little sister that I have to protect or take care of. I cannot possibly imagine talking to her about such... issues or imagining her in the same... situation."

Jaffar blinked, but then agreed. "Yes. You're right. On second thought, you shouldn't be speaking to Nino." _It would drive me mad to wonder if my wife ever said anything about me in regards to those issues._ "You should talk with Anko instead. It's very obvious she's more... experienced than Nino or you."

0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The King's Chambers

Kumiko stood before her vanity in the king's rooms, looking over at her form in her white nightshift. She stared at herself, at her body, wondering if it were any good enough. She was not royalty—she was not as porcelain fair as Guinevere or Brenya. She had been baked from the sun from fighting, from travelling, from dirt and mud and blood. She was neither as gorgeous as them, as stunning as them. She was just herself.

_Two years, and I still wonder what Zephiel sees here, with me, that he wanted that badly that it made him hold on and put up with me._

But then Kumiko remembered everything that Zephiel had said to her in anger—that there was never anything there that he wanted, that all he had truly wanted was to control her and get her out of the way. He had taken it back with his actions, though, how he tried to soothe her now and tried so hard to gain her trust. It was unfair to judge the man because of the things he had said in his anger. But they were hard to forget, and she would never know if he were telling the truth or not. He could be saying one thing or meaning another.

_Why would I give myself when I'm not even sure what is true...?_

"Is there anything you need to tell me?" A voice interrupted Kumiko's thoughts, and she stirred and found Zephiel in the mirror, standing behind her. His tone had been irate and confrontational, and his facial expression showed it.

She turned around to face him. "Zephiel, I... No, I don't. Is anything wrong?"

"You will tell me that that disastrous rumor is not true!"

_...Rumor? _Kumiko went to her husband's side, trying to calm him. "Zephiel, I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about..."

"It is not true, is it?" he pulled away from her, his anger not decreasing. "Or is it and will I be the last to know?"

"What? What in the world are you talking about?" Kumiko asked, raising her own voice now, because he had started it.

"That you're pregnant!"

...Oh.

..._Oh._

_That._

And after the silence all Kumiko could do was laugh.

"You honestly believe that rumor, Zephiel? How in the world would I get pregnant if I don't even allow you to..."

Kumiko had lost her words when she looked up and found Zephiel, looking at her with sadness, as if she had just ridiculed him with her words. _I don't even allow you to make love to me_. It _was_ an insult to him. It was slapping what he failed to get from her, to his face. Kumiko imagined how her laughter must have stung him, and she stood there, looking ashamed.

"Rumors don't start from nowhere, Kumiko," he told her, looking upset. "So why are people whispering about it? Is there something going on that I am unaware of?"

_Did I just hear that correctly? Is he insisting I slept with another man?_ "Zephiel!" she raised her voice, yelling at him a little, so he would stop and steady himself and look at her. And he did. "I'm _not _pregnant," Kumiko said. "That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard."

He looked at her, at how seriously she told him the words, and at how well she brought it to his attention—yelling at him like he was a dog who would quickly snap at his master's orders. "Then _why_ is half my court abuzz with this gossip?" Zephiel asked, demanding. "Rumors have to come from somewhere, right? Is there another man? Tell me if there is another man!"

_Another man! How absurd!_ This was again one of Zephiel's jealous rages. She had never been at the receiving end of it. Usually she saw how he gave bad looks to men who flattered her too much or showered her with attention, and she had even seen him send them away on errands, like he had done with James or Heath. But he had never confronted her about his accusations. Not until now.

"Your Majesty, I am _not_ with another man," she had told him, calm but firm. She approached him and took his hands in hers. "You know I am incapable of such a betrayal. I am your wife. No one can take me from you."

_There are a million people out there who could take you from me, Kumiko. You call them your friends, you call them innocents. If I wage war, you would prefer to be with them rather than with me. They can take you from me. I know they can. And if they could, any other man could._

"And, if I may say so, _you_ have started this rumor, my lord," she spoke with a sweet tone of humor in his voice. "You have been all kindness to me recently, people wonder if it is because I am with child. If it displeases you so, I will personally make a statement that I am not pregnant and it is all a rumor."

She was trying to sweep away his anger with sweetness and kindness, and he saw it. Zephiel only looked at her, a questioning look. "...And so you are _not_ pregnant? None of what everyone is saying is true?"

Kumiko nodded, a little awkwardly. "I haven't even... I mean, Zephiel, if I am, you would know, because you'd be the father and you will be the first person I would tell of the good news."

He still looked ill-tempered for a reason, and Kumiko began to wonder if there was something more to the rumor that he wasn't telling her—usually he would not tell him a part of a rumor if it were too offensive. Zephiel tended to do that. Zephiel tended to keep things from her if he thought it was better.

Or maybe... Or maybe this was something else. It was his desire; it was his sadness at the fact that she had not submitted to him. Maybe he had wanted the rumors to be true, in an a way. "Do you... do you want to have children?" she asked him.

And so caught up was he in his jealousy and irritation for another rumor gone out of hand that he forgot to keep his words in check. "Of course not," he answered, quickly.

When Kumiko fell silent, that was only when he figured that he had given the wrong answer. He stilled, and turned towards her, beginning to look awkward himself, as if he wanted to take back his words. Not wanting children was _not_ normal. To tell your wife you didn't want children from her bordered on offensive. And that was exactly the sort of face Kumiko was making at him now.

"N-No, you don't understand, that's not what I meant—"

"Kings always want children," Kumiko pointed out. "They always want heirs to take their place. Why don't you?"

_Because, soon, I will no longer be king myself and I will not have a need for an heir. Because I'm not sure that I can afford one more distraction in my life. One more person to love and one more person to hurt me._ "I'm sorry, Kumiko, that came out wrong," he said, immediately trying to appeal to her. "Of course I'd be delighted to have children with you. Of course I'd be delighted to raise up a boy or girl with you, maybe, the same brown-blonde hair and blue eyes like their mother. They'd be the most beautiful children in all of Bern."

But Kumiko did not buy his words—she was feeling a little too critical, and in that mood his words did not pass off to her as real. She knew this was the lie that covered up a truth that he must think she is better off not knowing. _He always treats me like I can't handle the truth._ "Your Majesty, I can tell you're lying."

"I am not," he quickly said. "I do think you and I can have the most beautiful children in all of Bern—or in all of the continent."

"But that doesn't mean you actually _want_ it," she said.

He sighed. There was no getting around Kumiko when she believed one thing to be a lie. He pulled her into his arms, and then asked her, "...Do _you_ want children?"

She didn't. At least not yet. _All I had seen and known of motherhood was from what my mother showed me—and while she tried her best to love me, I also saw all her pain and regret. I do not like regrets, Zephiel. And I am not sure I am not going to regret having your children just yet. What if you leave me? What if everything I think I have right now is an illusion? I will regret it forever. I will regret I ever trusted you._

He was staring at her, and she knew by that that she was silent for too long. "...I'm not sure," Kumiko finally told him. "I'm not sure I am ready for that just yet."

"And neither am I," he said. "I'm not thrilled to be a father just yet."

And then, she understood him. He had not seen much of good fatherhood himself and may not think himself ready for it as well.

_What a pair we make_, Kumiko thought.

But then Zephiel laughed a little and reached out to embrace her. "But if you change your mind and want to have children, you must tell me. If you think you are ready, you must tell me." And then he whispered to her. "And when that time comes, we can get to work filling this place with princes or princesses. I think I want a dozen of them."

One day later

BERN KEEP | Office of the Master of Spies

Anko looked out the windows of her rooms and suddenly felt ill in the sight beyond, instead of relieved. That was a first. Usually, the sight of the towns and greenery and the mountain ranges of Bern would be a good sight, but in that moment all of it felt nauseating. Anko felt as if she suddenly developed a fear of heights, looking out the window—the sight of it made her knees feel weak and made her almost want to throw up.

_Well, I never noticed I was so high up. Bern Keep being on top of a mountain isn't enough—I just have to have my office at the topmost floor._

_...It just hit me that the higher you are on the chain, the greater your fall._

The spy turned back to her office, leaning against the windowsills, steadying herself. For a while she stared at her office's space, until she spoke up and said, "Who is it? I can tell you're out there!"

True enough, the door opened and, much to Anko's surprise, it was the queen. Kumiko peeked inside. "Doing anything in particular?" Kumiko asked. "Do you mind a visit?"

"Come in," Anko said, and Kumiko did, settling herself in one of the couches Anko had set before a little table. Anko's office was unchanged, Kumiko thought. Still filled with stacks of letters and petitions and letters of correspondence. _Information about the war?_

"Is anything the matter?" Anko asked, snapping Kumiko from her thoughts.

Kumiko shook her head immediately, almost nervously. "N-No. Nothing, really. I just wanted to... talk."

Anko took a seat across Kumiko, and stared at her, as if studying her. _Everyone _who came to visit her had a purpose, and she knew that. No one would like to subject themselves to the torture of climbing the impossibly long flight of stairs to her office for no reason. "It's a good time for talking these days," Anko remarked. "There's nothing much happening. Though I do have to congratulate you for the great improvement in the king's mood. I heard you caused it."

"I doubt it," Kumiko said. "He just got tired of being grumpy. Everyone gets tired of being angry in a while."

_No, Kumiko. Not everyone gets tired of being angry. There are people who hold grudges for lifetimes. _"Deny it however you want, but that's what everyone is saying. That you somehow managed to appeal to him and get him to lighten up. What did you do? Lift up your skirt for him? And so you are pregnant as the rumors say?"

"No I did not do that, and so I am not pregnant," Kumiko immediately denied, blushing, as she always did when anyone suggested anything inappropriate. "Only _you_ would resort to such measures to get what you want, Anko."

The spy backed away in the slightest, a bit offended. But she quickly recovered and shook her head in mock denial. "_What_ are you talking about? I would never. I'm as chaste as a priestess. I'm a virgin by anyone's standards."

And Kumiko, never a person to see through an act easily, said, "Y-You are?"

"Of course not," Anko admitted. "I lost it years and years and years ago. I think you're the only one in our age group who _hasn't_."

Anko meant it as a joke of some sort, some statement that she was sure Kumiko was used to, especially coming from her, but the spy didn't exactly expect to see her look... troubled. "Am I truly the only one?" Kumiko asked. "I just can't... I can't think of doing it just yet. When I try to imagine it I get so scared and... Is there something wrong with me?"

Kumiko began to look so troubled that Anko began to feel bad for her. "There's _nothing_ wrong with you," Anko said, soothingly, getting up from her seat and sitting beside Kumiko, draping an arm around her. _Well, of course there is nothing wrong with you except for the fact that you have an absurd fear of letting a man touch you._ "What part are you scared of, exactly? That it will be painful? Kumiko, it is only painful at first, and then it gets better. You might even grow to like it."

"I... I know," Kumiko said, with a blush. "But that's not what I'm worried about. You know that's not it. I'm worried he'll-"

Anko was the one who finished Kumiko's statement. "He'll turn out just like your father. That he will be a man who takes you and then leaves you alone. Hasn't Zephiel done enough to prove that he'll stay? He stayed with you this long. If you give him this, it will hardly drive him away. It will make him keep you longer."

"That's not it," Kumiko said. "That's _no longer_ it."

Anko was surprised. If that was no longer the issue, what was this new one? Kumiko said, "I... I know Zephiel will stay. I know Zephiel will treat me kindly. But I'm not sure I... I'm not sure _I _want to stay. If I have children with Zephiel I am tied to him stronger, tied to him forever. I cannot escape him. And with this war, I'm not sure I want to stay. If I let him have me and bear his children, and if he takes that as an opportunity to continue the war, I would hate it. I would feel like I have fallen into a trap, never to escape him. I don't know if I can take it."

_So it's the war_, Anko said to herself. It's the war, which was more or less the cause of every problem in the married life of the king and queen these days. Bern's military silence had done much to repair the relationship—but Kumiko was right. What if the war started again—maybe next month, maybe next year, maybe as soon as Zephiel was sure his wife would not be swayed to the other side? If Kumiko were to give herself to the king and were to get pregnant, it _was_ an effective way of keeping her in control, stopping her from switching sides, like Guinevere did. What did Zephiel want?

Anko gave herself a sigh, as she chose to believe in the Zephiel that was the friend she had known from childhood, rather than the one who had become a master manipulator after he had killed his father. _Zephiel is still kind. Zephiel still has feelings. This is Kumiko, and he had always treated her dearly_. Anko reached out across her table to take Kumiko's hand and hold it. "Kumiko," she said, "Zephiel is your husband. Whether or not you have children with him it will not change the fact that you are married. You are tied to him, with or without heirs. You know what they say in church. No person or circumstance can bring apart two people that have been brought together before the gods. Only death can."

"I know that," Kumiko said, pulling her hand away from Anko's. "I _know_ that. I know I am tied to him, but if I did this, it is like tying more knots into the rope, strengthening it. It may be tying the rope right around my neck."

Anko shook her head. "Again, you have a very bleak view on marriage. Zephiel could very well be doing this to keep you in check and put you under his control. But on the other hand, he could very well be desiring what every man wants from his wife. Sexual desire is tied into a man's self esteem. I'll bet deep down inside he feels terrible for your unwillingness to share your body with him. He only refuses to insist in fear that you will feel disrespected."

Kumiko said nothing, and both she and Anko fell into an awkward silence.

Anko kept staring at Kumiko, still trying to put together puzzle pieces of why Kumiko acted this way in regards to this issue. "…Don't you desire him at all?" Anko asked, softly. "When he kisses you or touches you don't you feel your heart race in anticipation, in want? Doesn't he trigger that emotion in you at all?"

…_I think my heart races, but in both fear and want._ "I just don't… I am not sure what I feel," Kumiko said. "What are we getting out of this, anyway? Why do men desire this so much? What is their reason, apart from physical satisfaction?"

Anko thought long and hard at that question, a little rattled by it. Because, after all, what was there to care about, apart from the physical? Sex had no meaning to her, frankly—she was a spy, and it was only a tool to get a man to talk or get his guard down. A tool to induce someone to let go of his or her defenses.

And in that train of thought, Anko said, "…Because when the clothes go off, it's almost as if… it's your defenses that go off." She remembered how scared she felt, that evening not too long ago, when she kissed Heath in pretext of being drunk. She had always been a woman confident in herself, but that moment, she was terrified, knowing that in one second, he could turn her down and leave. Even if she had the pretense of being drunk, it would still be a rejection, it would still hurt. "…Suddenly you're barenaked with a man and you have nothing to hide and you're not sure if he'll like you for it or reject you for it. Because he can see your imperfections and you can't hide them anymore and—"—_and gods know how many scars and botches I have on my skin, unlike you, Kumi—you!—next to flawless_!—"And you… you get scared. You're vulnerable. But you trust a man enough to reveal yourself in your most fragile to him. It's an exchange of trust, in a way."

Kumiko pondered on the words, and said, in a almost a whisper, "So… there is more to it than physical, after all."

"Yes," Anko answered. "Yes, it is something more. …It's baring your soul."

**End of Part Two.**

Hope everyone enjoyed everything. Reviews fuel me to keep writing and help me bust writer's blocks!


	14. OMG Update A Miracle!

A/N: This chapter is seriously delayed. A lot of things have happened since I last updated, and I only recently found time to tie this entire chapter together.

Shout outs to reviewers last chapter! Midnight Enforcer, you flatter me too much, but I am glad I made you love this fandom a little bit more. Leilora, I'm glad you love Jaffar in this fic! It's a pleasure writing him. Patattack, thanks for staying with me this whole time! Anonymous reviewer, whoever you are, thank you. DarkBlaziken's review on my Matt chapter was full of win and funny comments that just inspire me to write more.

Onward to the next chapter of Bern. Usual warnings apply. Suggestive themes, but always carefully broached, and no vulgar lemons. Enjoy.

0o0o0o0o0o0

THE ILLUSION OF CONTENTMENT | The Freedom of Choices

BERN KEEP | The King's Chambers

One Week Later

Zephiel entered his bedchambers late at night to catch Kumiko seated amidst velvet pillow on the rugs before the fireplace, reading before the fire. The firelight gave her face and her hair a golden glow, and she was such a beautiful sight Zephiel couldn't help but smile.

He went over to her and bent down to give her a little kiss. And then he settled himself on the rugs beside her and said, "Not asleep yet?"

"Of course not," she said. "I waited for you."

Of course she did. Ever since they started to get along better and exert some effort to actually fix their relationship, she had waited on him. He glanced down at the book in her hand and was surprised that it was not familiar to him at all. "What is that you're reading tonight?"

"Ah, it's... literature," she said, and Zephiel was unsure, but he almost seemed to hear a bit of nervousness in her voice when she said it.

And her choice of book was puzzling, too. while Kumiko was knowledgeable at almost all topics, even literature, she was not actually one for reading them. Usually she read about strategy or history or even theology. She bluffed her way expertly through conversations about popular literature by reading a synopsis or summary instead of the actual novel or play, or asking him about it. "Let me take a look at that," Zephiel said, taking the book from her.

He could have sworn she gave it reluctantly. And he figured why, because when he looked at the cover and the content, he remembered what book it was. It was one of his mother's books from Etruria, a collection of romantic prose and poetry. He recalled how Guinevere used to gushed over it, reading and reciting sweet poetry from it during banquets and events. He had remembered, too, having read it as a boy, and doing the same, using lines from poetry to expertly flatter many a woman, proving how astute of a courtier he was in his father's reign.

But Zephiel glanced at Kumiko, puzzled. She never showed interest in things like this. She was a woman who would be hardly won over by sugared words and praises. And there was the fact that some of the contents were too passionate and erotic...

"I thought I'd read something different... for a change," she said, but the blush on her face spelt out that she was embarrassed; clearly she had read something awkward.

Zephiel smiled a little. She can be amusing when she felt awkward, when she felt embarrassed. "Did you like anything in particular?" he asked.

"Not really," she said, looking away from him. Her failure to look him in the eye made it very clear to him that she was embarrassed indeed.

He gave a little laugh. "You've read something... strange, haven't you?"

"Not too strange. Just kissing and... things."

He chuckled as he set aside the book, and then took her face in his hand and kissed her. He finished the kiss by holding her in his arms and kissing the top of her head. "So... kissing, and... _things_," Zephiel remarked, repeating her last statements, his amusement clear in his tone.

"...Rrright," she said. Zephiel held her tighter and began to comfortingly stroke her back. And when he spoke again, the humor in his voice was gone and he had turned serious.

"...You've never told me why you were so afraid to let me touch you," he said.

She pulled away from him, and looked away as well. It was clear to him that she still had reservations talking about the issue. "...Still about your mother?" he guessed, trying to speak as softly as he could, so it would not seem to her like he was forcing her to talk. "Are you afraid because of what happened to her?"

"...Yes," Kumiko admitted, after a little silence, looking down at the floor. She could not afford to look up at him. "I've seen everything that happened to her afterwards. All her crying. All her suffering. It was not a pretty sight. I was old and I already had a mind of my own and she still cried about it. She never forgot what _he_ did to her."

"I understand that," Zephiel said, as he took Kumiko's hand and gave it a light kiss. "But you do realize that we are different? That we are not like them and I am definitely not like him?"

"Of course I know that, Zephiel, it's just that..."

"Just what...?"

Kumiko could not believe that she was talking about this, but a part of her felt that it was about time she began to talk to him about it. She could not tell him about her hesitations that he would use their physical intimacy to tie her to Bern, though, to tie her to her country as he waged war on the continent. But there were other hesitations on her mind. "...I am scared that it would hurt."

"It only hurts at first," Zephiel said. "And then when that is over, it starts to feel better. And it isn't that painful if it is done gently."

Kumiko winced. She could not believe she was talking about this with him at all—and that he was talking about it with not a bit of awkwardness. "I just don't want you to think that I'm just..."

_An object._ She didn't have to finish the sentence for him to understand it. "Hadn't I stayed by your side all these years even if you did not grant me that favor?"

"Of course you did," she said. "And I'm eternally thankful for your understanding."

"I can only hope my understanding lasts longer than your indecisiveness," Zephiel suggested, with a little mischievous grin. "My understanding doesn't last forever, Kumiko. And of course you know that I am not a very patient man myself—it's a _miracle_ I am waiting on you all these years."

The way he said it was light, almost in humor, but Kumiko couldn't help but feel burdened in it, at the thought that she had kept him waiting for too long. _But what am I supposed to do? Offer it when I don't even feel comfortable with it yet?_

And then, she realized, there was the key word—offer. It made things doubly difficult. If Zephiel just did as he pleased and stripped her clothes without bothering to ask for her opinion, he would have had her years ago. Even right this moment—he could have her if he wanted. If he forced it-if he didn't stop to gauge her reaction or see if she was comfortable—it could have been all over and done a week ago. She wasn't even sure if she would have gave any resistance.

But he cared for her uneasiness and wanted her to be comfortable before doing anything. And unfortunately that meant having to wait for her to actually say it—that she was actually ready and he could go ahead. Kumiko tried to imagine herself doing it—tried to. She couldn't even picture it in her head.

She remembered their wedding night, two years ago. Something she had sworn to forget because of how ashamed she was of her actions. She was lying on his bed and he was kissing her and touching her, but soon he realized that she was shivering and sobbing, and when he asked her what the matter was, she had burst into tears. She could not even offer him an explanation. She had never offered him an explanation. But he had held her immediately, and assured her that he was not going to force her into anything, that he would wait.

At the first weeks and months, he would always ask her if she had changed her mind, if she was ready. He would try to kiss her, but her fear would always get the better of her, and so she rejected his every advance. As the months dragged on, he eventually got used to her rejection that he never asked at all, or never tried much to touch her. He did not even climb into bed with her; he ended up preferring to stay up late and read or study instead of spending pointless time lying beside her in bed. It was too late when she realized that while nursing her fear, she had pushed him away, and made their relationship colder than it seemed.

_I should have let him do it two years ago. And maybe then he would have found joy with her, and had children with her, and had children to take up his time rather than insane ideas of war._

_If I had let him do it two years ago, I would not be caught in this awkward situation now. How in the world should I tell him now, that I am more receptive to his advances, and that I might want it too?_

"Why are you turning red?" Zephiel suddenly asked, and Kumiko was so surprised at the question that she almost shrieked. "Are you blushing?"

"Red? Blushing?" she asked, sounding panicked. "No, I'm not. You're seeing things, Zephiel. It must be the light."

But he had read the panic in her voice and he knew her all too well to see through her lies. "Kumiko, if there's something on your mind, it would do you well to tell me about it rather than keeping it to yourself and feeling embarassed," he said. And when she did not respond, he gave a little laugh and told her, "If you've read something awkward and it's still on your mind, I can talk to you about it and explain it to you. You see, when a man and a woman are attracted to each other, sometimes they develop certain physical desires..."

"Zephiel! Stop!" she said, face turning even more red, her embarrassment growing and growing over this. "I swear you are doing this to mock me. I swear you are trying to talk to me like I am a little girl. Of course I know about what you are talking of!"

He stopped himself from laughing, but his amusement was clear on his face. "Oh, you do? You know what I am talking of? What a surprise. You're not as innocent as I thought of, my dear wife."

"N-not in the context that you are thinking of!" she quickly clarified. "I mean, I know how children come about, so I am not that innocent, but I would rather not hear about specifics…"

"_Oh_, I'm not going to make you _hear_ about specifics," he said. "I'm going to _show you_—"

And in his suggestion that he was going to demonstrate the specifics of physical desire to her, Kumiko leapt up and almost ran away—if she did not trip over her own dress and fall flat on her rear. Zephiel, despite himself, ended up in a fit of laughter as he asked her if she were alright.

"I honestly do not know if I should be offended over your fear for intimacy, because your absolute innocence to it can be so amusing," he said, as he sat by her side as she righted herself from her little trip. "You are too adorable to find offensive, Kumiko," he said, as he kissed the top of her head.

_Adorable. Amusing. But I know I can only amuse you for so long. I know one day, your impatience will get the better of you. So what should I do?_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"And then he laughed at me! Does he not know how frustrated I feel?" Kumiko told Anko the next day, a little frustrated, as she and the Master Spy sat together in Anko's office. They tended to do that now—sit together every morning, enjoying a warm mug of ale or a goblet of wine. Anko was often at her office now, Kumiko noted. No more trips back to the Guild, no more visitors either. She used to have people over even at early times, spies coming in for reports, or even Heath, visiting with Hyperion, just chatting. These days, Anko was frequently alone, and welcomed her as visitor more warmly.

Anko was smirking into her mug of cider. "Well, what do you think should he have done, aside from laugh it off and find it amusing? Do you suppose he should have given you a lengthy emotional talk of how your decision to withhold yourself from him is injuring his manly pride? I doubt you either of you would have enjoyed that."

Kumiko fell silent, pondering Anko's words. Every morning now, she had turned to the spy for advice. While Kumiko, admittedly, in the back of her head, thought Anko was incredibly biased because the spy seemed like the kind who liked to sleep around… there was one thing that mattered. Anko is Zephiel's friend. Before she was Kumiko's friend, she was Zephiel's. The spy knew her husband, and frequently had unique insights into his thinking.

For a moment, Kumiko looked up at Anko as the spy contentedly sipped on her cider. Anko was many things she was not—ambitious and boisterous and tough. When Anko wanted something, she made sure she got it, damn whoever is in the way. When Anko wanted something, everyone bended to her will, whether or not they were aware of it. She had always been that way, and her father Alecto always wondered where she got it from. More of a monarch than Kumiko ever was, a more astute practitioner of her power and influence than Kumiko ever was. If Zephiel wanted someone to help him run the country, Anko was the best candidate for that. Kumiko wondered why Zephiel never thought of marrying his spy childhood friend instead.

"What is it with that look?" Anko suddenly said, disrupting Kumiko's thoughts.

"W-What look?" Kumiko asked.

Anko pouted. "You were staring up at me the way a spy sizes up an opponent."

"W-What? No!"

Anko only stared at her, waiting for the explanation.

Kumiko sighed, and admitted. "I just wonder why Zephiel didn't marry you instead."

To Kumiko's surprise, the spy wasn't shocked or rattled by her statement. "His Majesty is a childhood friend, yes, and we had a long enduring friendship which is somewhat still valid until now," Anko said. "But I have never seen him in that romantic light. Like you, I have a distaste for nobles, no matter how kind. All that money and gold probably turns me off. I am a few years older than Zephiel, too. I have been like a sister to him in many instances for him to see me in a different way. And frankly I do not think it will work out. I am not what he needs."

_After I nearly killed him, poisoning him under orders of Desmond, I doubt he would ever think me marriage material. He'll have to wonder every living second if I tampered with his food and wine._

"…You would have made a great queen," Kumiko remarked, much to Anko's surprise.

The spy shook her head in disagreement. "I would make a terrible queen. I would constantly be in power struggles with my husband. I dislike it when someone is more superior to me, and when things don't go the way I planned. Men don't like that. They prefer to be superior to their women. And when you are king of Bern it would be an insult if your queen tried to outshine you in every way."

Kumiko felt her mood go down, as Anko just indirectly pointed out that that was exactly what Kumiko was—beneath Zephiel, lesser than anything he ever was. Less of a tactician, less of a ruler, less of a monarch. Even lesser in the things that were supposed to be a woman's forte—less of a dancer or musician.

Anko saw the shift in Kumiko's expression, and realized she had hit a sore point. But she and Kumiko both very well knew that it was the truth—Zephiel was a hard man to outshine. "You cannot be more than him in the ways men are measured. We grew up in a man's world, Kumiko, and father taught us to be equals with men, to gain power the way men do. To be astute and famed in our professions, and we have all accomplished that. I am Master of Spies; you are Strategy Queen. Miguel and Knarrd are advisors to Etruria; Nerisa and Mark are famed names of tacticians mercenaries turn to. And Xarin is... lapping at the foot of that Ostian spy Matthew."

Anko said the last remark with both humor and disgust. Kumiko watched as the spy made a puzzled face, thinking about their other colleague. "...It's Xarin," Anko said, explaining. "She baffles me. She could have overpowered that Matthew ages ago and competed with him. I am sure her Bernese heritage stops her from getting a higher rank, but she seems happy with where she is. ...Her success is so... _womanly. _It is puzzling someone that strong and cold would desire the kind of success of a woman._"_

_Womanly_? Kumiko was puzzled. "But Matthew has told me there is no Ostian field spy better than Xarin."

"No one but him," Anko said. "He is at the top of the hierarchy, and she is below him. ...Below him but above everyone else. It is a womanly kind of success. To be below someone stronger, but above everyone else for that stronger man—and maybefor him, even his equal. I can't have that. I am more in touch of my masculine side. I have to be on top. And with your earlier thought that I would be a fine queen—can you imagine Zephiel being happy with someone like me who would not settle for the thought of being below someone, even if I am above everyone else? That is what being a queen is. Below your king but above everyone else for him. It is not the brand of success father taught us when growing up—he taught us to be the best, to be at the top, better than men—so another more womanly form of success does not sit so well with me. It sits well with Xarin, though. I imagine it could sit well with you, too, although it must make you feel bad from time to time."

"...It does," Kumiko said. "I sometimes feel inferior next to him. I feel so small and irrelevant." _When your husband has called you nothing and an object once, it is easy to feel that way._

"And I am sure if you bring that up with his majesty he will happily tell you that you are above anyone else for him," said Anko. "...You are a successful woman, Kumiko. You have outdone any of us in marriage and by the quality of your husband. There is no more powerful man than Zephiel on the continent right now. And you may be below him, but you are very well above everyone else."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After a silence, and another round of cider and bread, Kumiko asked Anko, out of the blue:

"How was your first?"

Anko gave her a puzzled look. "First?"

Kumiko looked down at her goblet, and blushed. "The first man who had you."

Anko closed her eyes for a brief while in recollection, and then put a hand to her head when it began to hurt, not liking the memories that resurfaced. "...He was drunk and he reeked of ale and lack of proper washing. I flirted with him in an inn, attempting to get some information for a mission. He had withheld it good and well even when he was blind drunk. I thought I would seduce him, pretend to climb in bed with him but rummage for evidence in his belongings instead. Big mistake. I never thought anything would happen. I thought I would let him lie there and wait. But when I had been there with him he just threw me to his bed and tore off my skirt and then... did it. I barely had time to think and it was already done. The single most painful physical thing I have felt in my life."

"...I'm sorry," Kumiko said.

Anko shook her head, meaning to say it was nothing. "It is over and done with years ago. And besides I killed him afterwards." Anko saw Kumiko's face turn pale in horror, and then she realized she had revealed a ghastly horrifying story, and thus tried to dismiss it. She was not doing a very good job of encouraging her friend to be more physical with her husband with that story, either. "I had better, anyway. I had so much better. When done by someone who cares for you and wants you to have pleasure in it, too, it can be an amazing experience."

Kumiko smiled slyly. "Is this caring man someone I know? Maybe a wyvern knight?"

Anko laughed out loud, enjoying Kumiko's teasing, very well like a woman with her friends. She did not give away her secret though. "Oh, Kumiko," she said. "I don't keep tabs on exactly how many wyvern knights I slept with. I used to though, when we were younger. Nerisa and I tried to challenge Xarin's reigning record, in vain."

Kumiko laughed as well. She could very much imagine Xarin not being pleased by their discussion, but the Ostian spy had gotten used to the teasing and remarks back in their younger years for her past, and on rare occasions remarked on it as well. But more than that, the return of her familiar friendship with Anko along with these discussions was what she laughed to. She could feel their friendship being repaired by these mundane talks about men like they were two young maidens and not the adults that they were. "You do love a man in Bern's armor. It makes them look manlier."

"Oh, Kumi. I have had physical relations with people you know other than men in Bern's armor," Anko remarked, a secret slipping out from her tongue. She didn't much mind it, though. She knew it was all she would say.

Kumiko gasped, intrigued by the secret. And then a name sprung to mind, the only one she could think of.

"...Legault?"

Anko gasped as well, shocked. She almost took a throw pillow on her couch to lightly hit her friend. "Kumiko! Shame on you! I would never! When I told you that it was someone you knew, why does it have to be someone from fifteen years back? Can it not be someone more current, someone in Bern Keep perhaps, or the neighboring village?"

"But you had so much chemistry with him!" Kumiko teased. "All that love-hate nonsense when we were younger. He comforted you when father died—oh, goodness! Was that when it happened? When you were sad and needed comfort and you were drunk? Oh, by the gods! Anko—I didn't know!"

"We were both drunk and got into a bar fight and obliterated half the tavern—does that sound anything like lovemaking to you? Nothing. Happened."

Kumiko did not stop though. "Does Heath know? Does Heath know that you had a relationship with his former comrade?

"Kumiko, you are ridiculous, I would never-! Not with that man! I swear we had spent half an hour in that tavern betting who between us would better attract this man we saw, and he had very nearly outdone me. And hush and someone might hear!"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

LYCIA | Ostia

She had finished her prayer to Saint Elimine that noon, after a long day of assisting Lady Lilina on matters relating to Ostia's welfare. _Not in the place of women to dabble in politics_, she could almost hear Oswin's stern deep voice warning her. Serra had agreed with him. It was not in the place of a woman to decide what to do with the region's resources, where to station your armies, what to do with the brigands, and whether to attack or not attack. It has always struck Serra as a "man thing", those worries. In court, all she had cared about was the entertainment, the flirtations, the gossip, the dresses, and looking out for her interests and the interests of her husband. That aside, leave everything else, the big decisions, to the men; and the small decisions to the servants.

But now, there were no _men_, the pillars that Ostia and even Lycia as a whole had held onto for leadership had vanished. Lord Hector, the strong leader that had ushered prosperity into Ostia, was gone, and so were his best knights and vassals, Oswin included. Eliwood of Pherae was not in the best of health anymore, unable to fight in the war and lead his troops into battle. The rest of Lycia was in disarray. A lot of the dukes were either dead or defected to Bern, leaving people who never expected be given the role of Duke, to be that—given the role.

Like Lilina, fragile young girl. If Lady Lyndis had survived, she would be less of a worry—Lyndis, if anything, was just as strong as her husband Hector, and if he failed the people were assured that Lady Lyndis could step up to the role. But, Lilina? She had the courage of her mother and father, but she was young, inexperienced, unprepared. But she had to step up, like many other men and women of Lycia now. Like Serra herself.

_Times are changing, Lord Oswin. Now we have to deal with the roles given to us, whatever they are._

She walked into the castle town of Ostia, from a distance seeing Erk with his newfound huddle of students around a tree. The children, young things they were, were learning magic from Erk, wanting to fight in a war they shouldn't be fighting, or defend their families from dangers they should not be engaging. Even children had to rise up.

Even Erk had to, Serra noted with a sly smirk. Never had she imagined the awkward mage from back then who preferred to be alone reading his books to step into a group of young and not-so-young ones to teach publicly. She could see in the way he knotted his brows and the occasional dangerous frown on his face though that he had not entirely done away with his preferene to be alone. Children were children—they were going to be bothersome. Serra had thought Erk would give up on the task a week ago. He was still there.

_Lord Oswin would have looked so warm and fatherly with children at his feet._

"...You're working well with them," she said, approaching as the children went away and Erk was watching the little children's backs turn away from him as they left him to go back to their homes.

Erk didn't have to turn around to know that the voice belonged to Serra. He had heard enough of her voice to be able to recognize it, pitch and tone and all. "But do you think it's a good idea? Teaching magic to children?" Serra asked.

"If I don't do it, they'll find other ways to defend themselves," Erk said. "They'll pick up knives or stones or dabble in magic themselves. At least, with this, someone is teaching them properly." And then he turned to Serra to see her with that a little smile she'd have on her face fifteen years ago, that self-assured smile that was almost always glued onto her face. It always made him feel awkward.

"Well you certainly don't look like a woman who's lost her husband a few weeks ago," Erk muttered.

It was an absolutely insensitive to say, Erk realized, when he saw Serra's smile drop and he realized she heard it—but he couldn't help it. This was Serra. He'd had around a year of being tormented around the continent by her and her conceit. He'd learned to snap back at Serra and pick on the things that made her sad and hammer away at them to get her to shut up. It was some sort of reflex action that he formed, ages and ages ago.

"Well, _you're_ no more than an aging, unmarried, sullen old man," Serra snapped back bitterly. "No one was blind enough to marry you."

She hammered back at him, their conversation starting to remind Erk of the innumerable arguments they used to have years and years ago.

"That certainly is an area of my life that I don't have much interest in," Erk replied, coolly.

Under ordinary circumstances, he would have been offended. But these were no ordinary circumstances. Firstly, he had gotten used to all questioning he would get when people found out that he was not married, or had no lover. Ever, actually. He had grown numb to all the accusations and puns. And, secondly, this was Serra. If you hoped to get along with her, you had to learn to not take offense over everything she said.

"I thought you had a thing for Kumi, way back," she said. _Leave it to Serra to talk of things waaay back, _Erk thought_._ "Obviously you did nothing about it. Or about anything, anyone! How do you plan to live the rest of your life when you're like that?"

_I did do something about Kumi, Erk said to himself. Only, she didn't like me back. And similarly, a few years later, I did make a move about Priscilla. Only. She didn't like me back. It's some sort of pattern that I was unfortunate to acquire._ "You dropped your vows years ago, Serra," Erk said, as he preoccupied himself with gathering the picture books he had spread on the floor for the children. "You're not exactly in a position to preach anymore. I cannot even imagine how Lord Oswin tolerated you and your ways."

He had expected her to talk back at him, to retort with an even harsher attack at him, but to his surprise, she fell silent, and he saw sadness and pain wash over her facial features.

_You dropped your vows, woman. You chose money and status and security over your faith in the Eliminean order. You have no right to preach or say what you think is wise. _Serra could still hear the people's judgments in their voices when they talked to her. And she knew she had deserved it. If Lord Oswin was not a man so esteemed and secure in Ostia, she would never have thought of marrying him.

But Oswin had always assured her, given her no reasons for regret at her decision. Provided for her and protected her, something she never had from birth, never given to her by her parents. Oswin had been her pillar, too. It did not matter what anyone thought when her own husband didn't care. And so she didn't care about what anyone said, either.

"…Lord Oswin was a good man," she said. "I cannot imagine how he managed to live with me, too, and made me feel special."

_I wish I had given him children._

And in that quick shift of her emotion—one second, she was annoyed and fighting him back, and now she was sad and about to tear up!—Erk felt a pang of guilt. It was a familiar feeling, from familiar arguments with Serra. They argued a lot, and he had learned to pick on her weaknesses, and she would fight back as fiercely, until she would eventually surrender and be left vulnerable. And in the end, while Erk has defeated her at the argument, he would find that he was the true loser, laden with guilt at his supposed victory. He would be the one trying to appease her and tell her everything was alright and he was sorry and he was wrong.

"I'm sorry," Erk quickly told her, trying to mend things. "I thought—I never thought you actually cared for him. It seemed you were just marrying him for status—"

Serra gave him a pained smiled that made him bite his lip and shut up and realize that he was saying something tactless. _Gah, I am so pathetic, I still can't talk to girls!_

"Serra, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You were right," Serra said, interrupting Erk, her words surprising him. "You were right. I never… I did it for status. But Lord Oswin was a good man. He knew it and yet he still respected me and treated me well, though I deserved none of it. I am privileged to have been his wife. I grew to love him. I still… I wish I…"

And Erk stared at her long and hard, and realized one thing: she _has _changed. Despite the appearance that she hasn't, deep down in there, there was something more mature about her, something more appreciative and less conceited.

"...Lord Oswin was indeed a very good man," Erk said, trying to sound less awkward, trying to make his voice and tone comforting. Awkwardly, he placed a hand on Serra's shoulder, trying to comfort. "...He was a pillar in Ostia's strength, a great general. He is with you and his love stays with you and your children."

Children! The very word made Serra bursts into tears, falling helplessly into Erk's arms. _Children! How I wish I could have given him the one joy he desired!_ She remembered her sadness, all those months when she knew she was not with child, all those nights she hoped and prayed. But her prayers were left unheard, until Oswin's death. _Lady Serra is barren. Elimine has cursed her for forsaking her vows. The gods no longer favor her._

"S-Serra..." Erk awkwardly whispered, awkwardly holding Serra in his arms to comfort. "I... I think I said something wrong, and apologize for it."

"What, you've never heard of the priestess who renounced her vows and is punished by the gods for it by making her barren?"

"Well, news comes hardly comes to Nabata," Erk said. But then he realized that was hardly reassuring, and so he added, "Serra, I doubt the gods would punish you. You have served them well while you were a priestess. They must understand your heart, and will be merciful. It is true Lord Oswin is now gone, but you may yet to find another love. He may be just around the corner for all I know."

Erk felt Serra shift in his arms, looking up to him with a hopeful glint in her eyes and a wide smile. Again, the smile send frightened shivers to Erk's body, and he suddenly grasped what that look meant. Immediately he released Serra from her arms and backed away from him, flustered. "N-Not me! I don't mean myself!"

"Why, I so beautiful it is almost criminal! Erk, I am flattered!" Serra said, smiling and beaming, hands reaching for his arms, grasping onto the sleeves of his silken Etrurian robes. "And now, I am widowed, but my heart still loyal to my lord husband. And that all the more makes me more desirable, doesn't it? Because men covet the things they know they cannot have? I know the fact my lord husband is dead makes you want to take me in your arms and rescue me from this sadness!"

_On second thought_, Erk shook his head to himself, _she hasn't changed at all._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN-SACAE BORDER | A log cottage

Xarin had recovered smashingly, Matthew noted, much to his relief. After her crying and sobbing in his arms and the awkward situation that transpired between them, Xarin returned to her usual routine, back to her tasks, as if nothing had happened. But occasionally Matthew or Heath would catch her with her silent gaze at the air, and they worried the next second she would tear up, but she chose to fixate on work instead, now more than ever.

Matthew and Heath bonded like two young boys without a care for anything in the world, the lack of actual work for either of them meaning they had nothing much to do. When Xarin had been busy running the house and cleaning and doing laundry and cooking, they had just sat, and discussed, and ran out of things to do. And so they created things to do, thought of tasks irrelevant and relevant at the same time. They would go fishing, or hunting. They sparred at least once a day, with Xarin joining in as well. Heath was always better when he was holding a lance but Matthew always bested him at the sword. Eventually Matthew even let Heath into simple details of Ostian spywork. In return, Heath would tell of things he learned as a wyvern knight, simple informations that would benefit any spy.

Xarin, however, discovered this and privately voiced her resistance. "He has stayed beside Anko for nearly fifteen years—don't you think he could turn over our secrets to Bern easily with just a little prodding from Anko? Practice some caution."

"...He's not going to do that," Matthew said, with an upset frown for Xarin's disagreement. He always disliked it when she disagreed with him. "Anko just dumped him and literally made him run away from Bern. He told me. Do you think he'd wanna come back to her again quickly after what she had done?"

"You underestimate women, and Anko," Xarin said. "It's not new to you, you are a spy. You turn enemies into allies just by smiling. Don't you think Anko will not use his fondness for her to manipulate him?"

"I think Anko loves him," Matthew said. "She just... she just put him out of the way so he could be safe. What she did, hurting him, was for his own safety. He just doesn't see it."

"And so now you're the master of what Anko feels."

Matthew shook his head. "No, but I am the master of what a Master of Spies feels. I don't want my loved one going through danger on my behalf. I would push her away if it meant keeping her safe." _Someday I might have to do that to you. When the threat is too big, I may have to hurt you just so you'd stay away._

"You face danger with your loved ones, Matthew," Xarin said, and by the learned and serious expression on her face Matthew wondered if she were talking from experience. And then he realized she was. "Especially when he or she or he is capable of facing the danger. Nothing feels as terrible as being lied to by someone you loved."

Matthew remembered Xarin's past lover, and his terrible lies that left Xarin scars that stayed with her now. He was different. Matthew was different from him. "...Alex,"—just mentioning the name made Matthew feel an uncomfortable lump in his throat—"lied to make things easier for him," Matthew told Xarin. "When _I _lie to someone I love, it will be because it's what's best for her. To keep her safe. And usually I don't even lie to someone I love, but if her safety is compromised, that would be the only exception."

Xarin arched up an eyebrow. "And so says Ostia's Master of Spies, the biggest liar of us all. You've lied to everyone."

Matthew smiled, and said, "...Funny, I don't seem to recall ever lying to you. You should count yourself lucky. As I said, I usually don't lie to someone I..."

_Love._

"...c_are for_," Matthew finished, punctuating the words oddly enough to make Xarin think, to tell her he indeed meant something else, something _more_.

His remark left Xarin looking surprised. Matthew reveled in her look. He smiled at her and winked, and quickly left for his morning spar with Heath before she could say anything.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN-SACAE BORDER – A clearing by the stream

"Xarin thinks, you... you know, slept with the enemy," Matthew said, sweat dripping down his forehead as he sparred with Heath at the clearing by the mountain stream. His sword was in his hand, and a short distance from him, Heath was poised for the fight, his own sword in his grip, green hair disheveled over his face. He charged at Matthew, locking swords with him, before asking:

"Who do you mean?"

"You know, Anko," Matthew said, his voice stressing on the name as he pushed back against Heath's sword. "She thinks you and Anko were an item. You know, all that time you spent together, fifteen years, living in the same space with her..."

Heath felt his insides flutter, just having Matthew broach the topic. He felt his grip on his weapon weaken, but then willed for more strength as he mustered an explanation. "We were always proper with each other. I did not actually 'live' with her. I more of slept at the floor above the Guild, not where she was."

"Still, there must have been exceptions. Maybe when it was stormy and you wanted to cuddle with her to get warmer?" Matthew turned his head towards the other man, absorbed in trying to best him, just to see if he would give away anything in his facial expressions. Heath looked confused, and then tried to attack Matthew with a swing of his sword—but in vain. Heath's attack was slow, so Matthew predicted it and dodged gracefully. "Or maybe it was the other way around?" Matthew continued his assault of words. "Maybe she was cold and needed someone to cuddle? Drunk maybe?"

At the last statement, Matthew caught Heath flinch—just a momentary hesitation—and Matthew knew with that that he had hit a mark. He swiftly shifted his footing, and then quickly hit Heath's wrist with the dull side of his sword, making Heath flinch and drop his weapon. Before he could react and grab it, the tip of Matthew's blade was at his throat.

Panting, Heath said, "...You win, Matthew."

The spy grinned, and fluidly sheathed his sword into it's case, looking smug at his victory. That was the one that broke their tie. Heath sat down onto the grass, wiping his sweat with a cloth, hoping that Matthew's questions were over.

Apparently they weren't. "So, was she drunk, and didn't know what she was doing, and she just vented out all her loneliness on you, something like that? A momentary weakness revealed?" Matthew suggested casually. He sat on the ground as Heath did and took out a packed snack—fruit and a sandwich with spiced ham and cheese that Xarin made for him. He bit into it and smiled.

Heath shook his head to himself and took out his own packed snack—identical to Matthew's. Xarin always made food for them to bring when they went out to spar. "...Anko's not weak and wouldn't allow herself even a momentary weakness," Heath said, as he looked down at his food. Talking about Anko was making him lose his appetite.

Matthew recognized Heath's excuses. The resistance that hid the truth. Matthew knew that if he picked a little more at it, or traded a little something, Heath could very well soon give up what was underneath.

Matthew paused and considered his options. _Maybe trading little secrets would do to gain his trust. _"You know, no one's perfect," Matthew said. "I myself have... momentary weaknessess, and I have been practicing as Ostia's Master of Spies for quite a number of years. The craft encourages having no weaknessess, no personal ties to anyone, but sometimes I just... sometimes I am overwhelmed by my feelings." He gazed down at his sandwich, thinking of the woman who made it for him.

That made Heath pause, and sit up as well, and look at Matthew as if contemplating. The wyvern rider looked at the spy and curiously cocked his head. "You mean Xarin?" Heath asked.

"Xarin is my colleague and has been my partner for years. We do our best to keep our relationship professional," Matthew said, not flinching. He had practiced for this. As a spy, he had already sorted out what he had to say when anyone asked.

_And so was she. So was Anko. Anko was my landlady—I paid her rent, I looked after her house, I did errands for her. I did my best to keep my feelings out. I have done so, even for other women, numerous times._ "...But sometimes your best isn't enough," Heath said.

Matthew nodded slowly. Sometimes, no matter how hard you tried to not involve your feelings, it just wasn't enough. Sometimes the feelings and the urges get stronger than your reasoning. "I am doing my best to keep my relationship with Xarin the way it is—two spies working together, nothing more. In some times I have had... I've had a lapse in consistency, and treated her more than I should. But I know I should not. Sometimes I just... want to be selfish."

Heath nodded, listening to the Master of Spies of Ostia, and imagining Anko in the same spot. She could be turning him away because it was what she deemed best. She might have treated him as more than a friend out of feelings and desires that she could no longer ignore one day, when she was drunk and had no voice of reason to help keep her feelings in check. And so they showed, even for just one night, and she allowed herself to be selfish.

_Selfish_. Heath smiled to himself. Anko was a good definition of the word. "You may think showing your true feelings is you being selfish, but you hiding them is a more cruel, selfish thing. You don't care what the other feels. You've made the decision on your own. What can be more selfish than that?"

"You want the other person to be _safe_," Matthew reasoned.

"And maybe that person _will_ be safe," Heath said, "but he never had a _choice_. ...I'd prefer the freedom of a choice over being safe any day."

They sat there in awkward silence, eating, thinking of what each other said.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Three Days Later

"…What is it with the outside world?" Zephiel asked, all of a sudden, as he looked beyond the glass windows from one of the alcoves of the library to the view below—Kumiko setting off again with a few guards in tow to visit a village. Her essentials were being packed into a carriage by some servants, and Kumiko herself was dressed for her trip—in hunting boots and a more practical shirt and skirt suited for walking around the countryside. There was a buzz among the servants as Jaffar headed everything, called for this and that, while Kumiko and Nino watched on, chatting excitedly.

It had always puzzled Zephiel—her need to step among the commons every once in a while. He had his own share of interacting with the commoners of Bern, and it was not an awful experience, but with Kumiko, she _desired _it. She would die if she were unable to meddle among the commons of Bern at least twice a month. She would itch to go out and bother him about it and constantly ask for permission. And while he was not an ignorant ruler who did not care for his people, he always wondered what he found over there that she did not already have at the Keep. What was it that kept her leaving?

_The freedom, Zephiel_, she had always told him. _Maybe even the anonymity. The idea of being surrounded by men who do not need to lie to you to get on your better side, but will tell you things as is. Being surrounded by real people—not courtiers who praise you every day because they want to get your favor. Not being watched over by guards all the time! The contentment, Zephiel! The idea of being with people who are happy no matter how small or poor they are._

"My lord?" Murdock asked, not hearing Zephiel's question the first time.

"She wanders like it's a necessity," Zephiel remarked, and with that, Murdock turned to the direction Zephiel was facing, and found just what he was staring at past the glass windows. "I wonder what it is out there that charms her so."

Murdock, a commoner himself before he was put in his high rank in the Keep, knew exactly what was there, and so understood Kumiko. She was raised in the commons—and so she felt she _belonged_ there. Surely the king must understand that. "Why that note, majesty? Do you wish she never leave the castle?" Murdock asked.

_Yes. _"No, not really, it's just… I have been there and had experienced it. It was pleasant, to live like a common man, but what purpose is there in it? Ordinary people work and live to strive to gain title or land or get rich. But I was… But I am born with all of that. I will no longer have to think of what they think, or worry of what they have to worry of. I have things far above what they could think of to think of. I will never fit in with them. I wonder why she does. She's as accomplished as I am. What purpose would she have out there?"

_What purpose does she have in here_? Murdock almost asked, but he had thought better against saying it. Just as Kumiko had been raised in the commons, Zephiel was born and raised into royalty. He knew he belonged here. "I think that's a question His Majesty would better ask Lady Kumiko herself, if it puzzles him so much," Murdock said.

"She ends up spouting innumerable reasons that aren't coherent. So excited is she to go out that she cannot be bothered to make intelligent arguments," Zephiel said, recalling one time he has asked Kumiko about it, and she had answered as he had described: nonsense about the air smelling different, the grass, the chirping of the birds—things trivial, too small for him to care about.

"…Are you worried about… this habit of hers?" Murdock asked, with caution in his tone, hearing the jealousy in the king's voice that the king himself was unaware was there. The King of Bern was a jealous man, and every servant of Bern knew it, Murdock most especially—only the king himself must be unaware of this trait of his. It began when his mother died, shortly before he took the throne. He guarded his sister Guinevere sharply after that, as if always in fear that she would leave. If she wandered from his side, took a trip without him, or met with some friend or suitor, Zephiel always made sure that there was a guard at watch. With his wife, it was also the same. He permitted her to do as she pleased and travel Bern as she saw fit, but he had always had guards follow her without her knowing, and would be worried—fidgety and jumpy—while she was gone.

Murdock knew that Zephiel never wanted to lose anyone he loved again, so he held them close and tight.

"There are elements out there that are beyond my control," Zephiel said, still looking at the window, down at his wife who was standing with Nino and Jaffar, discussing before going on the trip. "There are thieves, bandits, spies… I have guards follow her but I can never be too sure if they will do their job well. And I can never be too sure that she would not run—"

He stopped, realizing he had said too much.

_I can never be sure too sure that she would not run away and leave me._

Murdock had understood what he had meant, though. He understood enough. The general walked towards the glass windows, too, to look down at the woman that caused much of the king's jealousy and insecurity, and love and sanity. "Lady Kumiko is a woman most loyal," Murdock said. "She does not back down on her word, and keeps her promises, to whomever she had made them to. If she is loyal to a promise she made to a lowly country farmer, what more to you, Your Majesty?"

"Mother has made promises, too," Zephiel said. "Guinevere has made promises, too. And they had ended up breaking them. It is only a matter of time Kumiko falls into the same pattern." _If something upsets her, if something angers her, if something she disagrees with happens, then she might leave, too._

Murdock gave a small, barely visible frown, feeling an ache in his chest as he listened to the king of Bern reason. To make a point, Murdock said, "She still refuses to sleep with you."

It was a statement, not a question, one that Murdock had been hesistant to make.

For a second Murdock saw the king wince, as if insulted. And that might very well be how he felt. "She had witnessed firsthand the effects of what the late marquis of Regrada did to her mother," said Murdock. "And as a travelling tactician she may have well had awful experiences with men that she does not want to think back on. She may make comparisons between them and you, my lord, and think you are the same."

"Of which she should know that I am not," Zephiel snapped. "I am not—never—the same as those men." _I'm not—never—anything like my father._

"Then you should not think of her the same way," Murdock said. "Lady Kumiko is not Queen Hellene or Princess Guinevere. It is never healthy to bring old scars into a new relationship, my lord."

…_But scars were that—scars. They heal but they never go away, they stay there, a mark of your pain._ Zephiel thought as he looked down at his wife, smiling and conversing happily as her necessities were packed into her horse's saddles. She could leave and never come back, and look happy because she will never have to see him again. He knew he had to hold her tight if he was to not lose her.

"...Call for a few of my guards," Zephiel told Murdock, an order. "Two or three shall suffice. The most dependable ones."

"...Your Majesty?" Murdock looked puzzled.

"Call for them," Zephiel repeated. All Murdock could do was nod, soon leaving to see to the task the king has given him.

_No more, _Zephiel told himself. _I'm not losing anyone anymore._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | The Liestal Countryside

Liestal, half a day away from the capital, was the gateway to Bern, being connected to Lycia, and was a thriving community built on farming and agriculture. Wide plains of corn and grain stretched out, acres and acres of them, and a thriving town in between. The only farming region in Bern, Bernese frequently travelled to Liestal to make business, meet friends, and barter. Foreigners and Bernese mingled here, and Kumiko frequented this town, knowing she would blend in well amongst the numerous people, unnoticed.

It was noon, and the town was bustling with merchants selling their wares, innkeeps and barmaids cooing to travellers to try out their house specialties, magicians and tricksters performing at the streets for spare coins. Kumiko walked in the midst of it all, cloaked and hooded, with Jaffar and Nino at her side.

They stopped by a large fabric house, and eagerly Nino and Kumiko discussed the latest fashions, calculating how much cloth was needed for a certain gown. "And look at this shade of purple!" Nino enthused, pointing at a bolt of deep purple fabric, running her fingers through it. "It would make for a good riding cloak, better if it is trimmed with fur. I recall we have some fur from Ilia, don't we, Kumiko?"

Kumiko nodded with a smile, thinking of Nino's suggestion, picturing it in her head. Beside them, Jaffar looked disapproving and was shaking his head. Accompanying Nino and Kumiko on trips was a neccessity—he was worried about their safety after all, and he especially desired to keep his wife within his sight—but listening to the two women continuously babble about fabric, fashion, jewelry, and books was certainly not the higlight of the trip for him.

And then something in the air caught his attention—quickly Jaffar turned around and saw three hooded men walking towards their direction. Jaffar had noticed the trio following them earlier that day in the markets, but dismissed them as Zephiel's guards, knowing that the king always had them followed despite his promises to give Kumiko privacy and freedom. Jaffar always pretended not to notice them, opting to let the guards think he was unaware of their presence. But now, as they were approaching them, they had to be acknowledged. Instinctively Jaffar's hands flew to the hilt of the sword in his cloak, as he stepped foward to meet the men.

The tallest of them stepped foward. "You do your job well, Jaffar," he said. And then he tipped the hood of his cloak lightly, letting Jaffar see who he was.

"...Your Majesty," Jaffar whispered, surprised. It was not Zephiel's habit to follow his wife himself—usually he left his guards to do it. Jaffar did not expect him at all.

Behind Jaffar, Nino had turned from her preoccupation with fabric to see her husband stunned, and the men before him—"Jaffar, who are—oh! My lord, I... we didn't expect you."

"And I do not blame you for that," Zephiel said, his voice taking on a softer tone as he regarded Nino. Jaffar noticed this, and raised an eyebrow. But he knew his wife was like that—extremely likeable. Everyone who knew of Nino's innocence and kindness tended to be just as kind to her, the king not excluded. "May I know where my wife is?" Zephiel asked the sage.

Nino simply turned towards the direction of Kumiko, who had just purchased the purple fabric, clutching it in her arms, exchanging a few pieces of gold for it to the shopkeeper. She walked back towards them, and then slowed as a puzzled look spread across her face, seeing her husband.

"...Zephiel," she said, questioning, as she joined them. "Why are you—is something amiss? Why are you here?"

Zephiel looked down at the bundle of cloth in her arms. "You picked a such a lovely color, my wife. You have fine tastes. I do enjoy seeing you in purple."

"Zephiel... Why are you-?"

"Is my presence so unpleasant?" he asked her. Immediately Kumiko shook her head, meaning to say no. "Then if that is the case, do not question it any longer," Zephiel told her. "Come. I wish to accompany you today." And then he whispered to her, with a grin, "It is my gold you are spending, after all."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Zephiel ordered Nino and Jaffar away, giving them the day off to wander the town as they pleased, leaving him with his wife. His two guards trailed them, but at a good distance. That aside, the king and queen were free, wandering the bustling town, garbed heavily and hidden in plain sight among the common folk.

For the most part, Kumiko felt ill at ease, and Zephiel saw it. She was not used to his presence at her personal trips, and was hesitant in all her actions. Zephiel, however, reassured her and tried to ease her worries.

"You seem lost," he said. "Is there not something you like? Something you wish to see?"

"Normally there is," Kumiko told him. "But… I am worried you might not find it enjoyable. I would dislike to bore you to the death, my husband."

"I think you underestimate me," Zephiel said. "It's been two years married and I have not yet bored to the death. That should say much. I can stand a few hours."

Kumiko bit her lip and looked down sadly, at the ground. _Two years... not yet bored... Indeed that should say much. _A lesser man would have bored of her in those years,most especially with her reluctance to sexual activities, but Zephiel stayed. _That should say much_.

Zephiel gripped her hand, noticing her silence. "Don't worry about it. I've been with Guinevere. I've been with my mother. And trust me, they can be more difficult to bear with once they start babbling about the latest in romantic poetry or fashion. You are far more tolerable."

They had been leisurely walking around the town square, watching a street magician make magical multi-colored flames light up in the air from a distance. Children had gathered around the performer, looking in awe and delighted at the colors that twinkled on and off. The sun was almost setting, and merchants were preparing to close their shops and stalls around them, while the taverns were just preparing, brewing tankards of their house specialties. Kumiko took in all of it, and squeezed her husband's hand. She wondered what they looked like, in the sea of people in town. Did they fit in, or did they stand out, clearly different? Or was only one of them different? She had lived in the commons, she knew how to belong. He never did. Even as he stood beside her, among common folk, there was an air of authority and nobility about him that no one could deny. He was _different._

Kumiko was suddenly snapped from her thoughts, noticing that Zephiel had let go of her hand, and instead was bent down, talking to a little boy before him. The boy, clean but dressed cheaply, was selling him some flowers.

"You can give these flowers to that pretty lady," the boy said, glancing up a little at Kumiko. "She'll look good with flowers in her hair, like all the girls during the festival."

Zephiel gave a small laugh. Kumiko never much bothered with her hair, and always found it a chore to figure what to do with it, often leaving the task of deciding to her servants. "Why, the lady will look good in anything," Zephiel told the boy. "She is my wife. How much are the flowers?"

The boy had been selling them for copper pieces, but Zephiel gave him gold and silver, making the boy smile so widely and thank him profusely, offering him his entire basket of flowers. But Zephiel only took a single white rose, and told the boy to do his best to try to sell the rest.

"Thank you, sir!" The boy said. "My father will be pleased by this. This will help us a lot!" And he thanked Zephiel again, and then ran off.

"That was very kind of you," Kumiko told her husband, who then got up and turned to her, offering her the flower. He tucked it into her braided hair, and smiled.

"The boy wasn't lying. It does suit you."

Kumiko laughed, flattered. They stood there smiling at each other until Kumiko decided to say:

"You would make a good father, Zephiel."

She saw Zephiel's smile turn into a slight frown. "His hair was brown-blond," he said.

For a moment, Kumiko was puzzled, until she realized what Zephiel meant. The boy who sold him the flower. His hair was brown-blond, and in Bern that more often than not meant one thing. _Noble blood_. But if the boy was in the commons then that meant... illegitimate. _Bastard_.

"...And yet he said he had a father to go home to that will be pleased," Zephiel added. "...Maybe someone else took him in. ...I know for a fact that Bernese nobility tend to be terrible fathers."

Kumiko inched closer to him, and took his hand. "That is your choice, my lord, and not something your lineage dictates. Personally, I think you will be an exception. You are different from all of them."

_I hope you will be._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The day dragged on into evening, and Kumiko was surprised that she was enjoying it, seeing the town with Zephiel. The had walked together, browsing the shops, and when evening came they went to the baker's for a meal—they were serve the finest the baker could offer, bribed by the jingle of coins from Zephiel's pouch, the baker serving them despite the store being closed, the time being beyond the acceptable hours for baking. And yet Zephiel demanded for freshly made bread and cheese, and meat if there was any. Kumiko looked at her husband and shook her head slightly.

"We are being a bother to them," Kumiko said.

Zephiel disagreed. "We're bringing in money. I doubt they'd think it a bother when I'm paying them generously."

The baker, a rotund middle-aged woman, studied the two as she served them their meals. Zephiel had and arm around his wife, never letting go of her even as he picked up his bread and began to eat. "Newlyweds?" she asked.

Kumiko nearly choked on her meal, and Zephiel gave a hearty laugh. "We've been married for over two years," he said.

The baker looked surprised. "Then may the gods bless the marriage further," she said, eventually. And then to Kumiko, "You're a lucky lass. It's been years since my husband held me that way. Tsk, men. They have the attention spans of children. You are lucky to have a devoted husband."

Kumiko blushed, not knowing what to say, and Zephiel just gave a little laugh again. "She is very lucky indeed. Thank you for reminding her of that."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

When evening came, Zephiel asked Kumiko where she tended to stay in the evenings. But when she found that she stayed at traveller inns at Liestal, his lips pulled down into a frown.

"You cannot always have elegantly furnished rooms and servants at your beck and call, my lord," Kumiko said. "There is no place like that here in Liestal. Do you suggest we travel back to Bern Keep at this hour?"

"It's not about the furnishings and the servants, Kumiko," he told her. "It's the dangers. You could be robbed. Threatened. I want you exposed to no such things. If only there was an—ah." His face lit up as he recalled something. "It seems there is a place here where we may safely stay in after all."

He rode with her towards the outskirts of Liestal—his guards still following them, Kumiko noticed. And then he stopped by an amply sized stone house, locked with no lights burning inside. Kumiko looked puzzled. Who resided here? They walked past the house to a small shelter in the back, with visible lights burning through the window. Zephiel knocked at the shelter door urgently.

A man, old and lanky with grey hair and a beard, opened the shelter door. Upon seeing Zephiel, he looked confused, but then within a few seconds understood the situation. The old man led them back into the stone house, opening it's locked doors with a key, letting Zephiel, Kumiko, and the guards enter.

"Where are we, Zephiel?" Kumiko asked, confused.

"...A safe place, if a bit annoying," Zephiel said. "But here we can rest well. Let's get some lights burning and check the inner rooms. We can rest here for the night."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | Liestal Safehouse

"…What is this place?" Kumiko asked, as she took in the environment: the cold granite floors and, the plush red rug before the fireplace, the high-quality furniture—from that hardwood desk to that four-poster bed and the carved dresser. Despite its appearances outside, the furniture inside the house clearly said that a man of high taste lived in it, the quality of the objects inside it grand enough for a king.

Zephiel had asked the old man and his guards to leave them, and they stayed at the shelter behind the stone house, not too far from them, giving him and his wife some privacy. Zephiel walked through the room, touching the furniture as well, as if thinking of things long past. "…This is ...my father's place," Zephiel eventually answered, with a little disgust in his tone. "He built many safehouses like this all over Bern during his reign. Only he had access to these places and knew where they were. He built them so that he could have place to run to in case he needed it."

In case his subjects overthrew him. In case everyone left him and supported Zephiel instead. Kumiko understood that that was what Zephiel meant immediately.

"…He was such an insecure man," Kumiko said, as she walked around the room, examining the furniture. She stopped in front of the dresser and touched the surface—the wood was of high quality and the carvings in its design were so intricate. Zephiel managed a small laugh at his wife's comment. _Insecure _was surely the word to describe his father, King Desmond. And these safehouses were the product of that insecurity.

"Whose is this?" Kumiko suddenly asked, and Zephiel turned to her, surprised to see her holding a lavender lace nightshift from the open dresser. Zephiel was puzzled for a moment—_why would father have a woman's_—but then he realized what this meant.

"_Apparently_ he also used the safehouses to meet with his women and cheat on my mother," Zephiel answered, and the disdain in his voice was clear. _Even when the bastard is dead I still find reasons to hate him._

Kumiko read the expression on his face and the shift in his tone, and knew that he was seething mad from this discovery. She walked up to him and said, "…You're still angry at him."

He gave a heavy sigh and said, "_Of course_."

"I thought you knew your father was like this and grew comfortable with the fact. After all, you accept Guinevere…"

"Guinevere is different," Zephiel explained. "She is my only living kin and I would be cruel to not accept her. She is my little sister. She is innocent—she has no sin in all of this. But it doesn't mean I ever accepted her mother, or any of my father's women. Guinevere's mother is nothing but a scheming commoner who betrayed my mother." _And now, no wonder Guinever turned out a traitor, too. Betraying me by leaving me._

"Maybe she was a woman who had no choice but to follow orders," Kumiko cautiously suggested.

He looked at her, expression shifting to a mix of puzzlement and disgust. "_What _are you doing _defending_ that woman?"

"I'm just saying, Zephiel, that it might be pretty pointless to still be angry for something long past, and something you have no firsthand knowledge of."

She controlled her voice to make it sound as calm as possible, to make everything sound like a suggestion rather than her chastising him. Yet for all that effort, he still read her words as offensive. "You wouldn't understand what I feel, Kumiko," he said. "You were an illegitimate—how would you know?"

He realized that was a tactless thing to say when an expression of hurt crossed over her face. "…Of course," she told him, voice dripping with pain and sarcasm. "_Of course_ I don't understand a thing that you feel. I don't understand how it feels to harbor hatred towards a man and his woman for what they did to my mother. I will never be able to understand you." No matter how damn _similar_ we are.

He knew that this was it—that dangerous brink of falling into a deadly argument with her. "I'm sorry," he quickly mumbled. He took her hand and held them in his own. "I'm sorry," he said. "It was a tactless thing to say."

She sighed, and nodded, meaning she accepted his apology. He gave her a little embrace and kissed the top of her head. "It's cold out. I'll get the fire stoked higher and try to see if there's any wine in the cellar, okay? I'll be right back."

He left, and left her standing there, thinking to herself. She looked at the lace lavender nightshift, still in her hand. And Kumiko thought, she and him are just the same. Still holding on to hatred for things past and letting that dictate who they became.

_Not me_, Kumiko thought to herself. _Not me anymore. I can't let my hatred for him dictate who I will be._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Soon Zephiel came back into the safehouse, carrying a small pile of firewood for the fireplace and a small flask of wine. He was quick to start the fire—soon flaming embers were licking at the wood, warming the house.

He stared at the fire thoughtfully, thinking of things past. Unknown to him, Kumiko was watching him, stading by the doorway to the adjacent room. The flames directly in front of Zephiel made her view of him a shadow, and that was fitting, Kumiko thought, as that has been what she and Zephiel had been all these years. _Shadows. Shadows that cling onto men long dead and gone and events long passed._

_Not anymore. I am sick of being a shadow_, Kumiko thought. _My father, the lord Regrada, has dictated everything about my life. And even after his death, he had a grip on me. He was the reason why I feared men, that I feared her own husband, that I rejected nobility. He had been the reason why I had worked hard to succeed as a tactician—so that I can shove it in his face later on, in the afterworld_. Her hatred for him had been the reason for many things, the cause of many of her decisions, consciously or unconsciously.

_It should end. It has to end. I cannot let him control me anymore. I can't bind myself to him anymore._

She walked towards her husband, forcing on a little smile and some joy in her voice. "I don't see why you need servants to start a fireplace for you at Bern Keep when you can obviously do it so well by yourself," she remarked.

He heard her sweet voice and laughed a little, and was about to come up with some retort when he turned around to face her.

And then he paled.

"_What _are you wearing?"

It was the lavender shift. She had changed into it. "I wanted to change and freshen up," she explained, simply.

That was acceptable. That was an acceptable enough reason. In fact, the nightshift looked good on Kumiko, falling over her her body so perfectly it almost seemed that it was made for her. But all he could think of was how she—his _wife_—did not at all belong in those clothes, that dress that belonged to some _whore _his father had. She was far above that. She could not have even one thing in common with that woman. "Take it off," Zephiel told her, a command.

She understood what she meant, and she understood what his annoyance was about, but she looked away from him and chose to jest with him. "I thought you had told me before that you will never force me to disrobe for you." Unless he was really angry, as he had done once.

"You know _that_'s not what I meant," he said, not amused. "It's just that—_you_! In those clothes! In _her_ clothes! You're far above the stature of that woman to even be caught wearing her clothes—"

She walked up to him and held onto his hands. "Zephiel," she called softly, "It's _just_ a dress."

_It's a dress that belongs to someone who latched herself to my father to offend my mother. It's not just a dress. I should have taken it and burned it and…_

"And besides," she said, shifting around on her feet and looking down at the nightshift, "I think it is very beautiful, and it fits me well."

_Will you please stop talking about the damn nightdress? _"You can have a similar one made when we get back home. The seamstresses will be happy to make one for you," he said. "But you would be doing me a great favor if you changed out of that... thing," he added, determinedly.

Kumiko frowned. This was going to be harder than she thought. She could still feel Zephiel's anger, seething through his voice and his actions. "Zephiel, it is _just a dress_..."

"It is _not_ just some damn nightdress!" he yelled and pushed her away, startling Kumiko so much that she froze into place. Zephiel realized what he had done, and quickly muttered, "I'm sorry."

She began to step away from him unconsciously, as if a wounded and retreating animal. Zephiel felt bad for this, and began to explain. "Please do not insult me by wearing those clothes. I am not my father, and you certainly am not some whore. You are my wife. You are you, and you are far above any woman for me. It pains me to see you having to have one thing similar with some mistress my father had. You are never anything like that."

_I am me_, Kumiko thought. _And you are telling me that. I am Kumiko, and not just some noble's illegitimate daughter. He does not define me. He should no longer define me. Just as your father should not define you._

"I am your wife," Kumiko said, softly. "And indeed not some paid slut. Thank you for telling me that. But Zephiel... I amnot a slut, and you are not your father. You are not that failure of a king who let his insecurity and lust consume him. So this,"—she tugged lightly at the hem of her dress to indicate it—"this shouldn't matter. Because we are not them."

To her disappointment, he turned his back on her, and sat back down on the rugs before the fireplace, sighing. She stood there in silence, watching him, pained to see his rejection of her help.

_You keep telling me you are not him. That you are different. But don't you see? You are falling into his trap. You are becoming like him. Insecure, angry. If you keep defining yourself by what he is not, you just end up letting him dictate who you become. Your anger for him dictates who you are._

"You're angry," she said, to break the silence. A statement, not a question.

He knew what she was talking about. But he chose to feign innocence. "At you? Of course not, Kumiko. I'm sorry for how I acted, but I was not angry at you."

She heard the lie in his words, for once. She knew he was feigning innocence, evading the topic. "I understand, Zephiel. I have been angry at my own father, too, for almost all my life."

"Kumiko, you know I am not fond of talking about the _brilliant examples_ of our fathers," he said, and she could almost see him rolling his eyes, even as his back was turned to her.

She continued, ignoring his warnings. "All my life I forced myself to be great. I worked hard and studied hard for the moment that I can shove all of it to his face and tell him that he was wrong about me. To tell him that I was not just a wench that will forever follow him or any other man. To tell him that I could make a name for myself and I didn't need him. Unconsciously, my anger for him became the reason for my living."

She stared at the fires of the fireplace ahead of her, as if thinking of her own burning hatred. But then she just sighed, and sat down beside Zephiel and linked her arms with her husband's, catching his attention. That was what she did when she wanted comfort. So he put an arm around her shoulder and held onto her hand, a protective gesture. Sometimes, Kumiko could just be so vulnerable. When she was like this, when she talked about her pain, it made him want to protect her from all of it.

"Just forget him," Zephiel told her, a comforting whisper. "Just forget him. He's dead. It's over."

_Just listen to your own words, Zephiel. If you would only listen to your own advice._ "It isn't easy to forget," Kumiko said. "It isn't easy to forgive. Especially after everything I have done in my life, I have realized, was because of him. Even right now, I am tied to him. Even right now, I become afraid of you, because of him…"

_Yes. And I suffer at present because of what a man has done to you in the past._ "I understand. But I will tell you, as I always have—I am nothing like him."

_I know you are. I know there is good in you, too, Zephiel. If only you forget him, too. If only you let go of this anger for him and stop living off it. I'll try it, and I'll tell you how it feels. I'll try it, and maybe I can show you how good it feels._ "I know you are nothing like him. I know you're a better man." she said, trying to smile.

"Trust me," he said, a whisper. "I am not him, and never will be."

_Trust me_. He was inviting her, and it was a tempting invitation. _Maybe, just maybe, I can try, _Kumiko thought. _My first step out of my misery. Out of the chains my father has bound me into. Out of the anger. Out of his influence._

And in response to his words, she inched closer to him and took his face in his hands, and led him to her lips. She kissed him softly, tenderly, and Zephiel was not at all surprised by the nature of her kiss. That was how Kumiko was. Soft. Fragile. Tender. Uncertain. He put his arms around her, and pulled her closer to him. He loved moments like these when she at least made an obvious effort to make him feel good and express her appreciation for him.

She pulled away from him and broke off the kiss, and when she opened her eyes open to look at him, she whispered: "Zephiel, I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to stay afraid because of his shadow."

For a minute, still intoxicated in her kiss, Zephiel did not understand what she was trying to say at all. His mind had tricked him to think that he was in some dream, with the coldness of the evening, the orange illumination of the room from the fireplace, and his sweet, beautiful wife in his arms. All of it, a dream.

And then the expression on her face changed, and she began to look nervous. She looked away from him for a second, and turned red in embarrassment. He was about to ask her why, was anything wrong—when she took the lavender shift she was wearing by the hem and pulled it over her head, exposing her nakedness to him.

He blinked, not comprehending for a second. But then everything fell into place—this was what she meant when she said she no longer wanted to be afraid. She wanted to trust him. She was ready to trust him and share her body with him and be his wife.

"Kumiko…"

She was flushing red, face turned away from him, and when she spoke she sounded as if she were biting the words back, afraid to say them. "Please take me, your majesty." When she spoke there was a shiver in her sweet voice. "I apologize for delaying in my duty to you as your wife, but now I am willing… if my husband still desires me, that is."

If Kumiko had looked at him at all, she would have seen the small smile that lit up his face. He held a hand out to her face, softly stroking her cheek. "I never stopped desiring you," he said. "I don't think I ever will."

Kumiko only closed her eyes in fright, and then nodded. "I am happy to hear that, Zephiel."

He took her in his arms again and closed the distance between them with another kiss. This time, it was his kiss—assertive, passionate. That was how he was. Assertive. Strong. Passionate. Determined. He shifted some of his weight towards her and made her lie down on the plush, warm rugs on the floor. He broke off from her lips momentarily to peel off his own shirt and pull down his trousers.

And she stared at him, as he took off his clothes. She was still flushed red from a mix of embarrassment and fear, and now, a hint of desire. He was as well built as she imagined underneath his clothes and, for shame, she knew she wanted to touch him. After two years of denying that he was a good-looking man who she could learn to desire, here she was, underneath him, wanting to be touched by him.

He leaned towards her and kissed her again after he had tossed his clothes aside.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Anko was right, Kumiko thought. The fear was not because he was scary and untrustworthy—the fear was because she was letting go of her defenses, letting him see her in her most fragile. But Zephiel understood that, and salved all her fears immediately. He whispered praises about her skin and her hips and her breasts, assuring her of her beauty, rewarding her with kisses and caresses and his own desire for her.

The fear was not because Zephiel would probably betray her and leave her soonafter—but because she had witnessed others left and betrayed, and she had been mistreated by men. And Zephiel had dealt with that too, in a way Kumiko was not sure he meant to do. As she lay underneath him and felt him inside her, moving between her legs, he had held onto her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. And he leaned towards her and whispered into her ear:

"I _love_ you, Kumiko. You have no idea how much I love you. I waited this long because I loved you too much to hurt you. You were worth it. My love, you are worth it."

Two years. It was the first time he told her he loved her. She smiled, and held onto him tighter. She trusted him, took the leap, and with his sweet words declaring love, it may have been absolutely worth it.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**End of Chapter.**

We can end _Bern _here now for all I know, so it's a happy ending where no one has to kill anyone and such.

The chapter is called Freedom of Choice because I found it to be the main theme of the majority of the scenes. Heath discusses it with Matthew, and in the latter part Kumiko makes a bold decision that, in her opinion, sets her free from the clutches of her past.

I'm sorry I took long to update. A lot has happened to me. I have been employed, and working as a barista/cashier, and then moved to currently being self-employed so I have more time on my hands. I should have more time for _Bern _and _Journey _now. -crosses fingers-

Please review! They're the only compensation I get for writing these chapters. I need to know my readers are still alive if I'm going to see these writing projects to the end.

Lots of Love,

kageshoujo


	15. Surprise?

A/N: Thank you for all the readers who have kept reading this. Thank you for the previous reviewers. Aquatic Silver, sadly this fic doesn't end yet. Thank you for being around. DarkBlaziken, your reviews are fuel for my fire to keep writing. And inspire me. Leilora, storyline gold happens soon. Let's all hope it goes well. Patattack, thank you for your reviews. They are appreciated.

This chapter is sappy. There, I have said it. I did my best to balance it all out, though.

Warning: Suggestive themes, but nothing graphic and explicit.

Without further ado here's the latest chapter of _Bern_:

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter 15

SURPRISES

"_Is there anything I'm interrupting?"_

_Kumiko, startled by the voice, nearly fell over from the stool she was sitting on as she sorted through Queen Hellene's vanity. Zephiel gave a little chuckle, and stood behind her, putting a hand to her shoulder to steady her._

"_Y-Your Majesty," Kumiko said, puzzled and flustered. "How did you... the doors are—"_

"_You are in the Queen's Chambers. There is a secret passage that connects this room to the King's Chambers. So that the king could visit his wife anytime he wished, if he so desired."_

"_I-I see..." Kumiko said, looking thoughtful. She still was not decided on staying in the Queen's Chambers—it was too big for her tastes it almost scared her when she was alone at night, and now there is this fact that Zephiel could walk in on her uninvited if he wished._

_And then there was Queen Hellene's effects—far too many to remove completely. It gave the rooms life and personality of their own, and Kumiko had not yet had the heart to remove them. While she respected the late queen, she had no desire to live in rooms and be reminded of her, of the last queen of Bern._

_She had died here, after all, hanging herself from her balcony._

_Zephiel had looked down at what Kumiko had been sorting—a box of his mother's old powders and cosmetics. He smiled, and took one from Kumiko's hand. "My mother's rooms had been left untouched. It's one of the first things I fought for. When she had died, father wanted to..."_

_His words faded, and Kumiko imagined he did not like the things that were brought back to his mind. She knew what he was about to say, however. King Desmond had a mistress and wanted to remarry only a week after Queen Hellene had died. These rooms would then belong to another woman. But Zephiel had stood up, and fought for his mother's memory._

_The first time that Zephiel grew a backbone and stood up to his father, Anko had told Kumiko._

"_And you would allow me to live here?" Kumiko asked, almost sounding confused. He had fought for this, to preserve her mother's existence, even in her rooms. And when he had expressed his intent to marry her, he had expressed that—his consent to let another woman change this, change everything, to replace the memory._

"_Naturally," Zephiel said, not even bothered or confused as she was. "You will be queen when we marry. And these are the Queen's rooms."_

_Kumiko's silence after that gave away that she did not like the notion. It was what confused Zephiel. "You don't like it here? What is it? What do you wish? Don't you like how it looks? We can have it remodeled. We'll have the furniture replaced—"_

"_No, it's not how it looks, Your Majesty. It is... its size. I am just one woman. I feel scared at night in such spacious quarters. I feel so... lost. Is there not a smaller room that I can move to? Something that's just right, and not so... grand."_

"_...When you've redecodated the rooms you will feel more confortable in them and then you will get used to it," he said. "You are new to this and all you see are my mother's belongings, so I understand you feel that way."_

_Kumiko's mood has not lifted, and he knew he had not convinced her. He sighed, and said, "Well, there is one more reason why I insist you stay in these rooms."_

"_What is it, Your Majesty?" she asked._

"_It connects to my rooms. I can see you whenever I wished. That is my preference. If you moved to another room... would you really like everyone in Bern Keep to know when and how often we would sleep together?"_

_Kumiko blushed. Zephiel had a point, and she truly had no desire for the servants and courtiers to be gossiping of whether the king slept with her that night or not. "I... I have no desire such as that."_

"_Then I have made my point clear."_

"_Unless we..." Kumiko began, an idea forming in her head. Zephiel looked to her curiously. "I could move into your rooms. Then no one would have to gossip about us and I would not have to feel so alone in such big quarters. ... If it pleases you of course, Your Majesty."_

_Zephiel looked thoughtful for a short moment. While Kumiko's suggestion would sound normal to the ordinary man, to a royal of Bern it was not. Zephiel's parents had never shared a room, his grandparents and ancestors before them never had. The marriage of a royal was bleak—they only married for heirs, to preserve the noble blood. Closeness and intimacy was not part of the formula. Admittedly, Zephiel himself only married Kumiko of his whim and fancy. He had no desire to be too close to her, to build a deep relationship. He only wanted to keep her in his sights._

_But for some reason, he had agreed. "If that is what you wish," he told Kumiko, who had been looking intently at him, waiting on his decision. "I'll have one of the smaller rooms emptied so you can have a private dressing room. But aside from that, I do not know what else I could offer. Everything else we would have to share, the bed included. If you are fine with that I'll order the servants to make room for you in the morning."_

"_Yes..." Kumiko said. "I am fine with that. I think I will be happy with that."_

"Why did you ask to share my chambers, two years ago?" Zephiel asked.

"Mmm?" was all that Kumiko managed to answer, naked and dazed in their bed.

Zephiel chuckled, and then brushed away her sweat-damp hair from her face, so he could kiss her. "You poor thing," he then said to her, with a smile. "Did I exhaust you? My apologies."

Kumiko shook her head, with her own little smile on her lips. She was bathed in an afterglow, and Zephiel loved how it made her look, too beautiful it was almost ethereal.

"...This was what I wanted," Kumiko said, reaching out to hold her husband's hand. "I know that nobles only... that we only married for convenience. And yet at the same time, I also wanted... I wanted to try and see if this could be something more."

He held onto her hand tighter. "...And has it become something more?"

"Yes," she said, certainly. "Yes."

He smiled. "As it goes for me. Do you believe what I say, Kumiko?"

She moved closer to him and settled herself in his arms. "Yes," she said. "I believe you. I trust you, Zephiel."

And he smiled such a radiant smile Kumiko was always blinded by it, seeing how happy he would be whenever she reassured him of her trust. Her friends were right. It was all he ever wanted, and she was a fool to think he would want to harm her instead.

And then she asked him, as she pulled even closer to him, putting her arms around his waist, "…Did you mean what you said, as well?"

He was puzzled, for a moment, trying to recall what she meant. Maybe in the ecstasy of the entire evening he had said things he didn't mean... "What did I say?"

"That you... that you love me."

_I love you_, he had whispered to her ear, when she let him have her that evening, when he had collapsed on top of her, shaking with desire. _I love you. You have no idea how happy you have made me, how much it means to me. I love you. I always have, always will._

He spoke the unspeakable. He tied himself to her not only with physical intimacy, but also with words that he can never take back.

He looked at her and found her eyes hopeful. Pleading for him to say it, say it again, to assure her that she had his love. Such hope was hard to crush. It would crush him himself to deny it, to tell her that he had no idea what she was talking about.

It would hurt her and it would hurt him to deny what he had long wanted to share with her. Even if it meant expressing that she was truly special in his life. Even if it meant giving her power over him, over his emotions, over his heart.

He pulled her up towards him and kissed her. And then he whispered to her: "I love you, Kumiko."

And that was all she wanted to know.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Now he slept before she did, and she considered it a miracle.

He would sleep, now, and Kumiko would always rest in his arms and talk to him in whispers, only to realize that a few moments later, he would be asleep. She would not be offended by this—she would only look at him, and silently feel in awe of this miracle that Zephiel—Zephiel who never seemed to sleep at all!—would be at her side, in deep sleep.

For all it was, Kumiko found it more of an intimacy than the actual act of bedding was. It would give her joy to find him beside her, trusting her with the vulnerability of his sleeping self. He would look so content and relaxed, different from the man he was during the day—always on edge and critical. But when he slept, he was someone else, he was simply her husband.

Then there was another thing—his laughter. He would laugh out of amusement now for little things, for big things. When his laughter used to be rare and sarcastic, it was now genuine, hearty. It was as if she had given him joy that was beyond compare. When she feared she would be clumsy and inexperienced in bed and make mistakes, he would smile and laugh in amusement and tell her how adorable she is, how she should not be worried, how he loved her for all she was.

_And what did I give to cause him so much joy? My body?_

_...No, my trust._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

BERN KEEP | Jaffar and Nino's Rooms

Trust was a fragile thing, that much Jaffar knew. It had to be earned, taken care of, and when broken, it can never be the same again. Like glass. A slight, careless move can cause glass to chip, never to be the same again. And if you kept handling it with more and more disregard, it breaks—shatters—beyond recognition.

_But Nino was... Nino is beyond all that._ Her trust wasn't _fragile_... It was almost... _absolute_. Maybe it was one of those things that marriage did—no matter what your partner had done, it had to be forgiven and stood by. But, no. Even married people leave each other.

But Nino had accepted him... even if he had been a heartless assassin killing for a mad sorcerer. Even when he had said harsh things to her, and nearly _killed her _when she had refused to carry out Black Fang orders. Even when bounty hunters searched him all over Bern, she had stayed with him. Even when he _left her_ to keep her safe. In his defense, it was done for her—and their children's—safety. But leaving one's spouse was still an atrocious thing to do. While Nino had been hurt, had been upset, she still accepted him, and had not once brought up any of his past mistakes to him.

It was as if all things were new, much like how Nino made shallow cuts disappear with her Heal staff. It hurt and it stung and it bled, but when it was Healed, it was _gone_.

He knew he was a lucky man. And yet it confused him, why he kept having to toy with her trust, taking for granted that it was not breakable.

"I know if I look hard enough, or think well enough, I am going to solve this," Nino said, sitting before her desk in their chambers, dozens of books, parchments and scrolls surrounding her—on her table, open before her, sitting by her bare feet. She was in her nightgown and nightcap, and yet was wide awake, nibbling on a quill, a habit she had whenever she was puzzled to a point of annoyance. "I am going to find out why King Zephiel has started war."

That was another thing that was hard to shatter—Nino's determination. Ever since she had realized trailing Zephiel's thoughts—from his speeches, to the things he read and wrote—would reveal much of his intentions, Nino had taken good care to execute her plan. She read his books, listened with a sharp ear to all his speeches, took notes—lots of notes. Half their chambers now looked like it had been taken over by papers, papers everywhere. For a man who was once an assassin—a life so simple, you only either kill a man or let him live—Jaffar found the papers to be nuisance, and more than once he had the itch to take everything and put it to the fireplace. He said nothing to Nino though, and let her continue in her research.

He observed her, and then took a handkerchief to her cheek. "You have ink on your face," he said.

"Oh, oh!" said Nino, startled. She giggled and put away the quill she was nibbling, and let Jaffar wipe the ink off her cheeks. "Thank you, Jaffar."

He kissed her gently on the top of her head, sniffing in her fragrant green hair. "Let's get some sleep. Won't you do that in the morning instead?"

"Of course," she said, smiling. "But I can't help but think that I am onto something big here, Jaffar. I think I am awfully close to something, it is just missing a few pieces..."

_Like Dragons, and Dragon summons. Like the Dark Priestess._ There were things Jaffar knew that he had kept secret, and had worked to keep secret, from Nino, and Kumiko. _It's for their own good. They would see that sooner or later. _

But that made Jaffar wonder what Nino would do once she founds out the secrets that he withheld from her. Then maybe her trust, too, was like glass, and he had been holding onto the final things that would cause it to shatter.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

BERN-SACAE BORDER | The Ostian Safehouse

She trusted him enough to let him do this.

Xarin was underneath him, gasping, moaning, his fingers sliding through her sweaty skin. He never thought he would do this, succumb to this. He knew he wanted it, but didn't expect her to want it as well.

How had they gotten to this? Matthew tried to recall the events. She had been bathing, in the streams, like she used to. He had ran into her again, and yet this time he did not have the decency to alert her of his presence.

He was needy, and she was there, soaping her skin in that damned seductive way that made Matthew curse and call on all the gods out of frustration.

And finally, he succumbed to it. He kissed her, her lips tasting sweet, and he thought, screw it all. I want this. I could figure out how to deal with all the stuff later.

He kissed her deep and hard, hand on her shoulder, rubbing and caressing. Her nightdress had a thin, tiny strap, and he let his fingers play with it, biting his lip as he thought of all the things he wanted to do to her. He wanted to make it slow, make it good for her as well.

He looked up to her and smiled rougishly. Her eyes were shut close, her lips parted slightly in hushed moans.

But then she spoke. And then his smile disappeared.

"Alex," she said, she sighed. "Alex..."

_No_, Matthew thought frantically. _No_. He wanted to shake her and make her open her eyes and tell her no, she was mistaken, it's him, it's Matthew. _Xarin, don't do this to me_. "NO!"

He was sitting up in the floor, sweat dripping down his forehead. The sun was out, bathing the room in daylight. Matthew took a breath and collected himself. He was on the floor, as is usual—he insisted on it, refusing to join Xarin on the sole bed in the cottage, because he wanted to avoid his desire to do those... things to her.

_That dream again... What a nightmare._

But that nightmare described everything he felt. Matthew sighed, and rested his head onto the mattress of the bed above him. He loved her, desired her, wanted to make her happy... but was so scared she would only see someone else.

He wanted to hear his name being drawn out of those lips, and not someone else's.

"Matthew."

Matthew nearly jumped out of of his skin. He turned to where it came from—the bed—and saw Xarin lying there, looking at him, still in a nightdress, hair half-covering her face. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Matthew stared at her for a moment—to him, she just looked so stunning, lying like that in bed—but then he groaned, and then shook his head, as if to dismiss his thoughts. "Yeah," he said. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

"You were moaning and screaming," Xarin said.

Matthew suddenly felt nervous. What did she hear? "Yeah? What did I say?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"...No." she said.

_No. I'm not him_. _No._

"I'm okay," Matthew told her. "I'm okay. Just a bad dream."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"_But, Matthew... there's something else."_

_Matthew looked up to her, surprised. Had he moaned out something more telling? Did he call out her name. Oh gods, no. I hope not. I hope it's not worse._

_He had just stared at her, expression asking her what she meant. But then she just looked at him, her eyes then slowly travelling down to his trousers..._

_He looked down, and realized what she meant._

"_Oh fu—" Matthew turned red, flustered. "This is—this is nothing! It was cold, okay? Or, or something! This isn't what it seems!"_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

OSTIA | The Castle Town of Ostia

"Everyone, listen for a moment. This is... This is Serra."

Erk stood awkwardly in front of the group of boys and girls, under their usual tree. Beside him was Serra, his total opposite—standing straight, looking at each and every person, absolutely confident. Erk was still wondering if this was a good idea. Younger people were... difficult. You needed a certain patience with them. Patience wasn't something he was sure Serra had, but she had asked this of him.

"_Do you need any help?" Serra approached him after one of his classes, picking up books and parchment._

"_Thanks Serra, but I got it," Erk said, not bothering to look up to her. "Don't you have issues with Ostian politics that must be dealt with?"_

_Serra just stood there, as Erk packed all the books into one bag. "...There's only so much advice I can give Lady Lilina. I am not a politician. Neither am I a warrior. The advice I give her is what my heart and my instints tell me."_

_Erk heard the pain and defensiveness in her tone. "...I didn't mean to suggest anything bad, with what I said."_

_Serra didn't say anything to that. Instead she sat down one one of the crates spread out around the tree, their makeshift chairs, and said, "Do you have room for one more student?"_

"_What?"_

"_I'd like to sit in your classes."_

"_S-Serra, that's—you're a—Why would you...?"_

"_To learn about magic," Serra said, as if Erk should know that that was obviously the answer._

_Erk sighed to himself, taking a second to word his opinions correctly. "Serra, you are a good mage. You can command the staff very well and use Light magic just as well. Besides, I teach children—"_

"_I see some grown men and women in your group. I don't think I would be too much of an odd-one-out."_

But that was exactly what she was, standing there in front of everyone and beside Erk. Her unfaltering confidence aside, she was dressed too lavishly, a standout in red and white and a fur capelet. Erk certainly had to put in a word to her about that afterwards. It was him who was worried for how Serra would react if her robes got dirty.

But his worries were nothing. His discussion and lecture with the group ended up without Serra throwing any tantrums or doing something to earn attention, as he had imagined she would do. Erk shook his head to himself. When it came to Serra, he truly had learned to condition himself to think of the worst about her. But when the children had started bugging her endlessly asking about her pink hair, or her pretty dress, or how she puts up her hair in perfect ponytails, she had been friendly and genuine.

Even when Lugh had carelessly spilled a tiny jar of ink to her capelet—Erk gasped and feared for the worst—Serra only shrieked, and then, laughed, and started punishing Lugh by tickling him senseless, distracting everyone into giggles.

"Serra, will you—stop distracting everyone!" He said, but his words weren't a serious reprimand. He knew Serra was making no real effort to ruin his class by starting distractions. It was just what she is. Even sitting in his class, silent, he tended to glance at her more often, trying to see what she was up to.

She was just naturally distracting even without trying.

"Look!" Serra took off her fur capelet and held it up to him, as he had walked towards her and Lugh to examine the damage. "I don't suppose there's some grand magic that can take off this stain, is there?"

It was a white ermine fur capelet, something only the most privileged of nobles wore. Serra was a pampered lady of the house compared to Lady Lyndis, Erk guessed. "There is no magic for that, but there are some herbal remedies that I can recommend, although I'm not entirely sure where in Ostia they grow..."

"It's okay. I think I know what to do with it," Serra said, with a smile.

The next day, Serra came to Erk's class, bringing strands of ribbons for the girls to put in their hair.

The ribbons were strands of white fur.

"That was very expensive fur you gave away," Erk told her, when all the children were gone, and Serra had stayed behind to help him tidy the place. "Do you have more where that came from?"

"One more. A coat," Serra said.

"...You won't be able to buy a new one so soon," Erk pointed out. It was going to be a long while before Ostia and the whole of Lycia would be stable, most especially in its economy. With all the resources of the nation going into the rebuilding and the defenses of the country, there would be hardly any money for even Lady Lilina to spend on her indulgences.

Serra was silent for a while, and when she spoke to him, her eyes looked far-off, as if she were thinking of things long-past. "When I was... When I was a child... in the... the orphanage... There was a woman who came by one day. She was wearing the prettiest silken clothes and had shiny jewels... The monks later told me she was an Etrurian noblewoman. She came to Ostia looking for a child. To adopt. Maybe she never had children, maybe she was looking for a child she lost."

Erk just sat, and stared at her, remembering fifteen years ago, at how Serra cried when he had confronted her about her delusions of being an Etrurian princess. "I wanted her to choose me," Serra said. "I badly wanted to. But then she took another girl, and I... I cried so hard. The woman didn't know why I was crying, but to make me stop, she took off her earrings and gave them to me. She said I can sell them for a big sum."

And then Serra reached into the folds of her dress, into her pockets, and then held her hand out for Erk to see. She was holding onto a pair of earrings, with pearls and amethysts set in silver. They were just as expensive as her fur coat.

"...I never sold it. I could have made a fortune if I did, right? I was a hungry little orphan and I didn't have any money... but I held onto it, and the idea that maybe someday someone would want me. Sure, it made me hold onto somewhat delusional ideas, but... It also gave me the strength to survive."

Erk sat there, not knowing what to say. Serra had always been... complex, and he knew it. He understood it, even, but always had a hard time putting it to words. "And now you've done more than survive," Erk said. "You've become _her_. You've become that woman who inspired you."

Serra shook her head, disagreeing, and Erk looked puzzled. "I hope not, Erk. I want to do better. I don't want to make a choice. I'll keep all the children if I can. Lord Oswin and I always tried and waited to have our own child but... it never happened. Maybe this is why."

Erk nodded, and sat beside Serra, giving her a brief reassuring pat on her shoulder. She has changed, after all. What a surprise.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Office of the Master of Spies

The Office of the Master of Spies had been in a lockdown. Anko had hid herself away, much like a prisoner of her own keeping, her office her own prison cell. She had taken to sleeping in the bedroom in her office apartments—no more going back to the Tactician Guild. She refused to go back, part of her own will, part due to practicality. There was nothing to go back there to, anymore. All that was there was the scent of Heath in the air and the furniture and the place, and to remember him would be heartbreaking. And besides, there were things that were keeping Anko from leaving her office. An issue to figure, to ponder, to draw conclusions of. Unless there was a conclusion to the issue, Anko was not leaving.

The sun was rising far above the horizon, and on ordinary days, Anko's private meeting with the king would have been over and done with. But today—and the days after—the meetings would come later. For a few days past Anko has appeared late to the morning meetings, and Zephiel was not a man who liked to wait when it came to business. Thankfully the king had simply decided to shift his schedule around so his day started later. If the rumors were true, he had wanted this change as well, preferring to stay in bed longer with his wife in the mornings.

Kumiko, you are a life-saver.

It was a heaven-sent gift. Anko couldn't afford to attend early morning meetings because the mornings had cast a horrible spell on her. She felt dizzy and sick every morning that she could not quickly get up on her feet like she used to. The headache was gripping, and on occasions accompanied by an urge to throw up. The problem didn't end there—dressing had become a chore, too. Her breasts had become sore and sensitive to the slightest of things that binding them for her bodices had caused much pain. They seemed to be growing out, needing to be bound twice more. And these were the issues that Anko was trying to solve, trying to figure.

She silently sipped on some wine, still in a nightshift that she never wore because she had always preferred to be dressed for the day, even in sleep, so that if an attack ever happened, she was good to go. But these days she was more likely to wake up in the middle of the night because she felt sick, and she had thus succumbed to sleepwear in favor of keeping her day clothes clean. Anko, thinking, began to tick off the possibilities with her fingers, one by one.

First, her stomach could be upset over something she ate. Whether it was some spoiled milk or some vile ingredient finding it's way to the Keep's resident cook's meals, she could not ascertain. It could also easily be dirty water. But she had lived in Bern Keep and ate and drank from Bern Keep, and the safest food and drink in Bern was here. There were cooks who made sure everything was clean and they would hang should it be found that they do not do their jobs properly. They fed the king and queen and the land's most important people. Anko doubted they would serve rotten meat.

It could be poison, though. Maybe someone wanted to poison someone and it ended up in my meal. Maybe someone wanted to poison _me_. I am sure people who want that to happen are in abundance. But who?

...Or this could be some new, foreign illness.

Her breasts easily could be feeling sore and sensitive since they were growing—they supposedly feel that way when they grow, or so Anko had been told, and maybe they were in pain because they had been previously too constricted by her clothes. But even now, when she had let them be, they still had a little ache to them. _Well, this isn't an effect of poison or illness, that I'm sure of. I haven't heard of a poison causing this feeling._

Of course, there was the last possibility—but it was by far worse than having the plague. And when she had thought of it, Anko's hand idly dropped down to her belly, as if trying to ask her body if there was another life inside it.

_And if there was, if there was... _

_Xarin might know someone who could..._

Anko shook her head, not liking where her thoughts were leading to, her hand reaching back up to her wine. No one gets pregnant from an accident. Accidents were never meant to happen at all.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN-SACAE BORDER | Ostian Safehouse

"Hey, hey, you okay?"

Heath blinked, and found Matthew waving in front of his face. Apparently he'd been dazed, and Matthew had caught him staring at mid-air.

"I'm okay," Heath said, shaking his head to himself. "I'm just... I suddenly felt as if..."

"As if _what_?" Matthew asked, looking puzzled. Behind them, Xarin was at the dinner table, looking equally puzzled.

Heath looked up to Matthew, and then said, urgently, "As if Anko's in trouble. As if I... I just suddenly have an intense urge to see her and talk and..."

Heath made as if to grab his lance and his travelling pack, so immediately Matthew stood by the door, blocking the way. "You have a bounty on your head! If you step anywhere near Anko—which I am a hundred percent sure is within the capital—you are as good as a dead man."

"She wouldn't sell me out," Heath said. "I'm _sure_."

Matthew gave a groan, and then Xarin said, "Even if she doesn't sell you out, you put her in danger by meeting with her. If anyone finds out she let you go and met you, _she _is a dead woman."

"Fine! Then let me go and I'll just get some air," Heath said.

"Sure, if you put away your weapon and your stuff!"

Heath threw down his pack and his lance onto the floor, grudgingly. Matthew dared to raise an eyebrow at him and give him a look, before moving away from the door to let him pass.

"I'll write to Jaffar to ask him if she's safe," Matthew assured Heath, before the latter went away.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Matthew groaned, and then said, "Well... that was unexpected."

Xarin emerged from an inner room, carrying parchment and ink to the table. She was already starting on the letter to Jaffar that Matthew had spoken about seconds ago. "Let him be alone for a while. ...Sometimes you feel a strong urge to be with the person you love and feel frustrated when you know you can't do it."

"Well, _I_ know a thing or two about strong urges, and what I know is that if you keep following them, it's a death warrant. You have to learn how to use your head and think and not let desires overwhelm you," Matthew said.

Xarin was silent, and Matthew thought that that meant she had abandoned the converstation, as she usually did, but after a few moments she said, "Sometimes you have to follow them. Or else you'll live out all your life wondering what would have happened if you'd done things differently. If you'd confronted your desires dead-on instead of running from them, or putting them aside... things would have been different."

_There'd be no waiting twenty years only to find out everything was a lie._

Matthew caught onto her train of thought and knew that she was thinking of _him _again. It was always _him_. When he had turned back to Xarin, she noticed that his eyes had turned darker, and that he was more visibly upset.

"I was just... I suddenly had this question," Matthew said.

"What is it?"

"...Did you ever fall in-love with someone else? Not just... not _him_. Was there anyone else?"

Xarin made a face, by now noticing how Matthew often only referred to Alexander as '_him'_. Matthew disliked him, that much seemed clear. She understood why—he had only seen how he made her wait and suffer—but there was no reason to feel bad about mentioning a name.

While she was silent, Matthew looked hopeful. "So there was _someone_?" Matthew crossed his fingers behind his back. _Is he tall with sandy brown hair and eyes? Are you like totally in-love with him but denying it? Is he me? _

"Well," Xarin said, "there is one man. But I'm sure he doesn't count."

_Who? Me? I don't count, why?_ "Who is it?" Matthew asked.

"Alecto."

Matthew was disappointed that Xarin had named the man that adopted her and Kumiko and their other friends, in their childhood. "He gave me everything I have now," Xarin said. "Skills. A job. A title. Things I need to live."

Matthew sighed—so all this time she thought nothing of me after all—and then he nodded, choosing to continued the conversation with Xarin instead down the path it was taking. He did not know much about Alecto, the man who took in Xarin and her friends, but all he heard from Kumiko was praises and admiration. "He gave you freedom," Matthew added. "He honed your skills. He gave you chance to become someone else instead of being bound to serve men in a bathhouse."

"No..." Xarin said. "I... I could have always had freedom. It was a bathhouse for soldiers, and I was a whore, but I was a Bernese, and a Bernese is never a slave in her own country. We are employed servants who could leave if we wished, unless we were bound by debt. I didn't have debts. Alex left me some money. I just didn't... didn't know what to do with my life."

Matthew looked puzzled. He had thought that Xarin was forced to stay in her job, that it was all she could do, that somehow she was bound to it—be it by debt or slavery, like most whores he had come across. But she wasn't. She had had some skills. She'd worked in a tavern before, surely she could have made a more decent living serving ale or cooking up pot roast. But then when she chose, she chose to be a _spy_.

"And Alecto offered you spywork, and you wanted that? I mean, it sounds better than working in a bathhouse, but in this field, we risk our lives, we make enemies. An error means _death." _Matthew said, remembering Leila—remembering all his spies that died in all manners of ways. Tortured, beheaded, drowned, stabbed in the back, poisoned, killed by magics—there was so much more in the list, all of them he never wanted to see happen to Xarin. "_Why_ didn't you want to make a simple living instead and get married and have children or something?" Matthew asked.

"...Because I can't," she answered.

"That's silly. What do you mean you ca—"

"I can't have children."

Matthew fell silent, and then eventually realized what Xarin meant.

_She's barren._

It could have been something she had from birth, a problem that some women had and were devastated to have—surely he knew Serra had a hard time conceiving, although he could imagine she and Oswin just didn't try hard enough. Or it could have been something that she developed later on in life, a complication that arose from her previous... profession. Matthew couldn't tell.

But she told him anyway. "I had too many... In the bathhouse... My body had been damaged from all the pregnancies that I had... terminated."

"I... see."

And in a flash he had dark images of Xarin, ghastly pale, bleeding between her legs, trying her best to get up and move even after an abortion. He imagined it was partly of her choice, partly something she was forced to do. Being pregnant meant she couldn't do her work, so it was in her interest to not be pregnant. At the same time, perhaps she had no desire to keep any of them. They would all be from strangers, she probably wouldn't be able to tell who was the father.

_Maybe that's why I have such a hard time trying to imagine her with children in her arms. Xarin has never been warm to them, even to children in Castle Ostia_.

But after a few more seconds Matthew realized something else, something graver.

"...That's why Uther sent you to _those _kind of missions," Matthew whispered. "Because there'd be no risk of you..."

Things began to click into place—the assignment with Laus, all the other undercover assignments dealing with men... Matthew always wondered why Xarin got them regularly. He'd accepted that it was part of the life of a female spy—beauty was a weapon, and all of them used it, even Leila, although he'd made Leila swear that she will only give her body to another man if her life depended on it—but he'd never thought that...

When he sent Ostia's female spies into the field, he never assumed anything sexual would happen to them. It was almost as if he'd conditioned his mind that nothing of that sort happened to them. All spies that were trained in Castle Ostia were every means capable of defending themselves, so if they were ever sexually assaulted, Matthew _knew _they could defend themselves. Even when a mission called for subtlety and disguise, Matthew knew that there were so many other ways of getting what one needed before taking it to bed, but... When spies send in a report, they never say how they got in touch with the information anyway—that was mostly up to him or her. He'd never want to think that Leila or Xarin ever...

_I'd never put them in that kind of situation._

"Uther knew this," Matthew said—no longer a guess, but a firm conclusion drawn. Uther was a good man, far better than many worse that Matthew has seen, but he was also a politician through and through, capable of dirty schemes and tactics. But Hector... "Lord Hector?" Matthew asked, sounding every bit urgent, "Did Lord Hector know?"

"...Yes," Xarin told him.

"Then why in the hell don't _I _know?!" Matthew yelled, slamming his fists onto the table as he got up and started pacing. Xarin looked absoultely puzzled, wondering why Matthew was acting this way. "I've been told you didn't... that nothing happened between you and Laus, that you managed to gather evidence for his plans of assault in Pherae without ever letting him touch you. Just seduction. You had a knife to his neck before he could..."

Xarin looked away, and with that Matthew knew he had been lied to, by Hector, by his superiors. _Why? Why would Hector—Hector!—lie to me about this?_ "So... So you and Erik Laus—the worst man in all of Lycia, that stinking, terrible son of a..." Matthew's words faded and he stook his head to himself. _It's not fair._

"...I've had worse," Xarin whispered, to herself.

"And Lord Hector, he... he put you with Laus knowing that you're..."—_barren!_—"that you're... they used your..."

"Barrenness," Xarin said, looking straight at him, face not showing any emotion. "My barrenness shielded me from complications that could arise after going through such sensitive missions. Uther used it. Lord Hector used it. Sir Alecto told me to as well."

"And screw that because they're all dead," Matthew sharply said. "But _I _am alive and I'm the only man you answer to now, and I'd _never_ tell you to do such a thing."

"Matthew, I think you're overreacting, you always knew that—"

"I _didn't_ know!" Matthew said. "Uther knew and Hector knew but I didn't! They knew about this, they knew about _that _Alex guy, and _I _didn't. Am I so insignificant that you'd think I don't deserve to know?"

"—you always knew that our profession is filthy and requires doing filthy, filthy things," Xarin continued talking despite Matthew's own words. "What I've done for Ostia, the methods used to gain what we needed—none of that need be questioned. It's a recognized trick in the book and we all know it. Leila might as well have also—"

"Leila _never_ did such a thing," Matthew said, his words almost sounding like a threat. But when he paused and took a breath, the firmness in his statement was lost. "...She told me," Matthew said, sounding weak. "...I made her swear she wouldn't do that unless her life depended on it."

"And I'm not Leila," Xarin said. "I didn't swear such a thing to you. There's no need for you to overreact. I don't even understand why you're upset!"

"Because I'm jealous!" Matthew said, shouting, kicking his chair over. When Xarin just stared at him, he continued. "There! I said it! I'm jealous that I have to always be the last to know because I wished I mattered enough to you to be confided with all this!"

"...But I just confided in you, didn't I?" Xarin said, after a small silence.

"Confided of things Uther already knew, Lord Hector already knew? I'm always just some leftover, I was just the last resort, some sort of..."

_Substitute._

Unable to say anything else, he went for the door, and left her.

0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Jaffar and Nino's Rooms

Jaffar entered his bedchambers that evening and was not surprised to see Nino huddled on her desk before firelight, books all open before her. But tonight, she was not writing down notes furiously like a sage obsessed in a study, unlike she did the past few days. Jaffar thought she was asleep, and he approached her and bent towards her to kiss her cheek.

But she did not let him. She was not asleep at all. Instead, she looked at him with an expression on her face that was half fear, half excitement. Jaffar knew that look. The look of someone who has come across something great and life-changing, but dangerous. He had seen it before. Maybe it was the same look she had on her face when she found out that Sonia was not her real mother.

"Jaffar," she whispered to him. "I've solved the riddle. I know why King Zephiel has started war."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He blinked at her and backed away, and knew that this was indeed a pivotal moment, something life-changing. And all he could tell her was a soft, uncertain, "Nino...?"

"I've solved it!" Nino said, as she grasped onto Jaffar's shoulders and shook him a little. She turned back to her books and resumed to looking like a frantic researcher on the verge of a new discovery. "It all makes sense now, I understand everything! From his childhood trauma to his grasp for power and how he got here, to his mother's suicide, to the literature he reads. To his unhealthy fascination with legends and folklore and the Scouring and—"

Nino was talking so quickly, and sifting through her notes and pointing them out for him to see and laughing a little, she almost seemed crazed. "Nino, calm down," Jaffar told her, putting a steadying arm to her shoulders. "I understand what you're saying. You've been trying to get into His Majesty's head for months now. You've followed everything. I know. But what is the conclusion?"

Nino fell silent, and then excitement on her face shifted into fear. And then she told Jaffar:

"He wants to burn the entire continent. He is going to destroy Elibe."

For a second, it sounded ridiculous to Jaffar, but then he realized that Zephiel had already harnessed dragons to begin with, so this was possible. He took a step back from Nino and sat on their bed, and then looked at her expectantly, waiting for the rest of her explanation.

"At first I was confused by everything," Nino began. "I couldn't make any progress at all. But then the books from Etruria and the Academy came and I started forming theories. And then the copy of the speech Zephiel made to his soldiers came and then he said something about this world being reborn from the ashes and—"

"Figure of speech," Jaffar suggested. "Doesn't he mean it figuratively?"

"I have no idea," Nino said, "but I have a hunch that it is more than that. Zephiel made a speech about a rebuilding the world, _changing _it completely. And using fire as a way to express that is unlikely. Most warring lords who do it for the land would say _to conquer_ or _to spread our influence_ or some other euphemism for greed of land. But Zephiel wants to change what was normal for the whole of Elibe. He is talking about rebuilding, rebirth, but fire and destruction beforehand."

"...Then he is not doing this for the mere sake of war or expanding his land or having greater power over everyone," Jaffar said thoughtfully.

"And I figured this is connected to his fascination for the Scouring, for the legends. That time was also a time of war and bloodshed and fire, and in the end it resulted in a drastic shift in the balance of powers—dragons were expelled from the land and all the power in the land fell into the humans. Zephiel wants to do the same. A drastic shift in the continent. He will build something new."

"A new empire?" Jaffar asked. "Doesn't it just sound the same as a man who wars for power? If Zephiel will turn Elibe into a new empire, under his total control, it sounds no different if he actually has ideas behind them. In the end, it will just be the same. It will still be conquering."

"No, Jaffar, it is different!" Nino said. "The motives behind an action make something different. Zephiel's motives are not money or greed for power. Whatever it is, it is certainly more dangerous and deranged than that."

What was more dangerous than greed or powerlust? Anger? But despite Zephiel's anger towards his father, that was not that strong a reason to pursue a war. "...His Majesty certainly doesn't look as deranged and dangerous as you suggest. What reason is there greater than greed or lust for power?"

And Nino said just one word. "_Perfection_."

And when Jaffar heard it, everything clicked into place, there was _something—_something he understood but couldn't put into words yet. "Ever since Zephiel was young, he had strived for perfection. He tried to fit into a mold of what is perfect and good to please his father," Nino said. "Whatever he did, he tried to be perfect. Until every man and woman of Bern said it to him. But still—still—his father never loved him. His mother left him alone and committed suicide. Even Guinevere left him now, as we know. But instead of this shattering his desire to be perfect, it did the opposite. He makes himself believe that it is because people are not good enough, and that is why they leave him. He started blaming it on others instead, just so he would stop blaming himself, stop feeling hurt. It was easier for him to think like that when he was perfect, and with every man and woman in Bern tells him so.

"Have you never thought of that, Jaffar? That is why it never appears like _anything_ is wrong with King Zephiel. He will try to stick to the image of perfection. He is not a man who thinks he is perfect and then acts stuck-up and conceited. He is a man who tries to be perfect and thus, tries to be kind and flawless. He will try to get everything right. But since the people who he loved the most have denied him their own love or left him, he _must_ think that the world is not good enough for him and will try to purge it. But for him, he is doing the right thing."

Jaffar felt that Nino's conclusions were so absurd, yet at the same time, there was something about it that he understood and he believed. "But how will he destroy this world? No matter how mighty the military of Bern might be, we are not capable of that. And Zephiel will not be the kind to fight a losing war. He must have an ace to win, but what?"

And with that, Jaffar alertly looked up to Nino, wondering if she already knew about the dragons and was forcing him to talk about it. But he found that she looked genuinely puzzled still. She did not know yet. And then she lit up and said, "I have to tell this to Kumiko!"

"No!" Jaffar immediately got up and took Nino by the wrist, stopping her. She looked back at him, surprised. "What do you think will Kumiko do once she hears what you have to say?" Jaffar said. "She will get angry at Zephiel. She might leave him. And if your theory about how Zephiel thinks is true, leaving is the last thing we want her to do."

Nino looked thoughtful, and she understood Jaffar's point, but then she said, "But what if he doesn't even really care about her? What if she is just part of the image of perfection that he is trying to uphold?"

"And yet what if she is the only thing keeping him from being past salvation?" Jaffar countersuggested. "If I had been through all his pain but had one woman who stayed by my side despite everything I turned into, I would have every reason to turn back and change my life." And then he told her, "If you had stopped loving me—if you have given up on me even when I left you—I would not know where I would be now. If your friend walks out on this man, the most powerful man in Bern, who knows what would happen next?"

"...But she's my friend," Nino said, her voice so weak, pleading. "Jaffar, Kumiko is my friend. You don't keep secrets from friends. You don't put forward friends and let them stay in danger when you know there is danger she is not aware of. His Majesty could be using her, tricking her. I can't just let her be unaware of this. I will no longer let anyone I love be tricked or used by someone else. Like I let happen to Lloyd and Linus. It is not happening to me again."

Jaffar gripped tighter into Nino's arm, tight enough to stop her, but careful enough not to bruise her. "Nino. Sometimes you have to sacrifice friends for something better. Sometimes you have to keep things from them if it's for the better."

"I don't use my friends, Jaffar," said Nino, stubbornly. "Sonia had used me, Nergal had used me. It felt awful once I realized I had just been an object. Why would I ever let Kumiko go through the same thing?"

**End of Chapter.**

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Author's notes:

This is a short, filler chapter before what is called storyline gold where all the peace is disrupted. I admit the next chapter is more filled out than this already. I had little to no plans of what to include in this chapter and what scenes to include in the theme. It's basically a chapter dedicated to revelations of 's a filler sap-fest before we go back to serious business. I wish I filled it out a bit more, but I haven't posted in so long and I've hit such a block in this chapter so I just decided to be mediocre and post it. *isshot* I figured it's better than just letting the fic stale and losing my muse for it.

Well, the title of this chapter should really be about childbirth or something because they're all just discussing families and having children and such, la~ So please forgive me.

I don't really ship Serra and Erk together. In fact I really don't ship Serra or Erk with anyone in the game. Sure, I have a soft spot for Serra and Oswin, but that's because of the fanfic / story value I see in it, as I interpret here. There's a big and likely chance that Serra will marry Oswin, but only for the financial security and social status.

As with Erk and Serra, I tend to see their supports together in FE7 as a strong indicator of a deep friendship and understanding that they do share, despite how they grate on each other's nerves. I didn't see the supports are really romantic in nature, but it's a good place to start from if ever they'll have a romance. What did you guys think of my Serra backstory?

What do you guys foresee of Heath-Anko and Matt-Xarin? Matt-Xarin is my guilty pleasure. Almost just as much as Kumi and Zephiel. They should be fading out soon though.

My vision of Matthew is how Darkblaziken/Aofei put it: he tends to "toe the line". Between professional and slack. And between moral and dark. I wrote an essay years ago of how I got that idea from one of Matthew's supports. He says, "At least Lord Hector is incapable of treachery, unlike Uther."Matthew has accepted these things are normal, but a tiny part of him really dislikes them.

Legault and Sain are making their appearances real soon. Perhaps next chapter or the chapter after that~ I'm still open for suggestions of how you want to see them in this fic, or any other character.

I should be rereading / replaying my FE6 though, it's gotten rusty and I've forgotten who should be in your party by now. Just a moment ago my brother was playing and then Theme of Bern came up and I started fangirling.

Uhmm, please review? Pwetty please? Been a while since I updated and I want to know if people are still on board.

All my love! - kageshoujo


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